The Wrong Side of the Tracks
by The Sad Privateer
Summary: Christine Savage never was a "good girl." Eight months after the downfall of her master, Kronos, she joins an ever-growing group of Kronos's defeated rebels, hungry for revenge against the people who ruined their lives, future, and dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**It's been eight months since Percy Jackson successfully defeated the Lord of Time, who's in no shape to be returning anytime soon. But as the demigods prosper, what's happening to the survivors of Kronos's army, who are scattered far and wide across New York? They are not as weak as Percy and Co. might think. The gods' enemies are now calling for blood--Camp Half-Blood, to be exact.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own PJO or anything else, for that matter. Not that lucky**

Ch. 1

Two A.M. on a Thursday morning. I sigh as I pad down the silent northern Manhattan streets. It isn't really silent, of course--the city never sleeps, as they say. But, it is quieter in the odd hours of the morning than any other time, and you sure won't catch me complaining.

Don't get me wrong; jumping off a rooftop into a crowded sidewalk and terrifying some tourists witless? Best fun there is (and also a great way to make news headlines). But that's off topic.I'm on a mission this morning, more or less. You see, for the last eight months, since the untimely downfall of my Lord Kronos, I have been living on the New York City streets. This means that my meal choices have been reduced to a) tipping garbage cans, b) breaking into buildings and raiding cupboards (not recommended), and c) eating people's house pets (not recommended either).

Breaking into houses and hunting pet hamsters used to work pretty well, but after one too many close calls with the dog catcher, I was forced to put an end to those kinds of stunts. This means that I get the--uh. . . _unlimited pleasure_ of dumpster-diving. Oh, the joy, huh?

I head downtown, careful to avoid busy areas. In daylight I usually don't risk going anywhere other than the familiar spiraling network of alleys, nearly deserted and hidden from public view. But at night, I allow myself a bit more freedom. The darkness provides an effective cover-up for my startling shape.

Ten minutes later, I'm buried up to my tail in a dumpster located behind a deserted drug store, the only light coming from a single working streetlamp and the soft glow of the millions of city lights in the distance, making the atmosphere appear brighter than it really should be. Just as I'm checking out a sorrowfully empty Cup 'O Noodles, someone raps their knuckles on the side of my dumpster.

The noise echoes loudly in the muffled silence, surprising me and sending me toppling sideways into the trash. A rather unpleasant chuckle drifts to me as I flail about, struggling to stand up amid the filth. I drag myself into a standing position, balancing my front paws on the edge of the dumpster. My back paws sink deep into the garbage I am festooned in. I warily raise my nose to the air, scenting for the intruder.

"Christine Savage," someone murmurs, "what has the world done to you?"

I glare at the speaker, a tall black haired boy about my age, dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket, a sword hanging at his side. His eyes--one brown, the other pure silver--glitter at me from the gloomy darkness.

"Hawkeye," I growl distastefully. "What do you want?" I've learned from experience that this kid only drops in for a visit if he needs a favor.

He chuckles again, flashing his way-too-white teeth, which I have a sudden, unexplainable urge to knock out. "So is that how you greet an old friend?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "Where's my hello?"

I bare my own yellowed fangs. "You can take your hello and stick it up your--"

He holds up his hands, cutting me off. "You can keep your hello," he decides, still smiling ever so slightly.

"What do you _want_, moron?" I demand again, fighting to keep my balance in the trash that shifts under my feet.

"So suspicious," he drawls quietly. "I don't need a favor, Christine. Not one of my own, anyway."

I give a barking laugh. "That'll be the day," I snarl. "I don't have the energy or the motivation to go around pulling crazy stunts anytime soon, as you can see," I tell him. "So if you don't have anything important to--" I stop abruptly as Hawkeye steps swiftly forward and plucks a wrapper of some sort off the top of my head, which I had not noticed. He holds it between two fingers and dangles it in front of my nose. "Oh, yes," he says softly. "I do see."

I barely restrain from snapping off his entire hand, wrapper and all.

"Get outta my life, Hawkeye," I snarl. "You don't need to keep in touch with me, now that Lord Kronos is finished." I begin to turn back to my trash, but Hawkeye stops me.

"Wait," he says, "Get out of that thing and listen to me. Please. I just can't take you seriously when you're sitting in a freaking dumpster and look like a dog."

"Wolf!" I exclaim, highly offended. Very large wolf. Five feet three inches at the shoulder when I'm on all fours, in fact.

"Wolf," Hawkeye corrects himself generously. "Now, will you _please_ get out here?"

I glare at him. I can throw this kid further than I trust him. After a moment though, I haul my very large, very bony carcass over the edge of the dumpster, landing in an awkward heap at Hawkeye's feet with a thump and a soft grunt. The second I hit the concrete, I can feel myself begin to morph: the shape of my spine changes; my nose shrinks; my paws shift into hands and feet, the claws and fur absorbing into my skin. Several painful seconds later I have changed from extra-bony wolf to sixteen-year-old girl. Hawkeye takes a large step back, and I don't blame him. I know I'm disgusting.

My tangled, stained red hair hangs over my dirt-streaked face. I'm dressed in the same clothes I was in last time I took human form, eight months ago: bleached jeans and a ratty tank top covered by a grey hooded sweatshirt. All my clothes are frayed and coming apart at the seams, and there is a wide gash that goes through both the sweater and the tank top, through which many of my ribs are visible. My skin is painted with bruises and dried blood, and my teeth and nails are chipped.

All things considered, I look--and probably smell--pretty awful.

I stand up to my full height, staring Hawkeye in his mismatched eyes and silently daring him to belittle my appearance. He stays wisely silent, sensing that is he makes me mad in any way, I'm not sticking around to listen to him. But it isn't him I'm mad at. Not really. It's the gods.

See, when my mother was young, that slut Apollo fell in love with her. In a panic, my mother turned to Artemis for help, accepting the oath and becoming a Hunter, thus saving herself from Apollo. A couple years later, my mom fell in love with a mortal man, and wound up pregnant. When Artemis found out, she banished my mother from the Hunt and cursed her unborn child (ME, just FYI) so that it would have to spend half it's life in the form of a wolf. When Apollo got tipped off that my mother had been banished from the Hunt, he added insult to injury by using his wretched prophecies to predict her early death. Sure enough, when I was four weeks old, my mother dropped dead for seemingly no reason at all, and I was dumped in an orphanage (Apollo had snuffed out my dad too).

It there's one thing you should understand about those of us in Kronos's army, it's that we all have a reason for doing what we do.

I cast away these distracting thoughts and stretch, trying to get used to being human again. "Happy now?" I ask Hawkeye scathingly, shooting him a glare. "So what did you hunt me down at two in the morning for anyway?"

Hawkeye nods, recovering from my less-than-stellar appearance. "I have an offer to make you," he whispers.

"I'm listening."

Hawkeye begins to walk slowly down the dark street, and I follow, limping slightly. "Well," he starts, "after Lord Kronos fell, most of the army ran for it, and are strewn around New York. Some of the more powerful ones went other places, but most of us stayed here."

I shoot him my best _no-freaking-duh _look.

Instead of ignoring it, he stopps walking and turns to look at me. "One of those that stayed," he says quietly, "is Zane."

He has my attention now, and he knows it. Zane was Kronos's army director, after Luke Castellan gave his body up to Lord Kronos and no longer fit the job description. He was a huge, African American demigod gone bad, son of Ares, in his mid-thirties. Zane had proven, time and time again, that he was more than worthy of the unequaled respect the army, and Kronos, gave him.

"What does Zane have to do with it?" I ask Hawkeye.

"About a month ago, Zane came to me for help. He wants to rebuild the army as much as possible. Christine, there's hundreds of survivors that are more than willing to join the cause. We have over three hundred already."

I scowl. "And what, exactly, is the cause?"

"We're gonna take a bite out of the demigods' victory."

"That's insane," I snap. "You know how powerful they are. They'd smoke us in ten minutes flat."

Hawkeye shakes his head patiently. "It wouldn't be an all-out attack," he explains. "It'd be hit 'n run stuff, you know, guerilla warfare. Pick off a few every time we attack, harass them a bit. We'd start by making sure no new demigods get into the camp. Kill 'em before they get through the border."

I think about this. Believe it or not, Hawkeye is actually talking sense for once. "Why do you need me then?" I ask.

Hawkeye rolls his eyes. "Christine Savage, you were one of the best free lance fighters Kronos had. You're the Greek version of a werewolf. You were one of the nine survivors of the bombing of the _Princess Andromeda. _You took a bite out of Nico di Angelo's shoulder and lived to tell about it. Why wouldn't we want you?"

I don't look at him. "What are out chances?" I ask.

He stares at me. "We have fifty hellhounds, thirty or so demigods, some telekhines, and Hyperborean giants. A handful of _dracaenae_ and Laistrygonian giants. The Sphinx on Seventy-second street too. Plus a bunch of miscellaneous creatures and mutants, like you. What do _you_ think out chances are Christine?"

It sounded pretty good to me, but I was still hesitant. Hawkeye could tell.

"Also," he said quietly, "Zane reckons he knows where Jackson's Achilles spot is."

I whirl on him. "You're kidding. How in Hades' name did he figure that out?"

Hawkeye smirks. "Remember ol' Ethan Nakamura?"

I nod. I used to steal stuff from him before he betrayed Kronos and got himself killed.

"Ethan almost nailed it that day at the Williamsburg Bridge, but Jackson's girlfriend took the hit for him. But anyway, Zane thinks it's on his lower back somewhere."

"Smart," I tell Hawkeye.

"So we _do_ have a chance," he whispers. "Are you in?"

I turn to look at him. "So is this a volunteer project, or do I get free room service?"

Hawkeye's pure silver eye glitters mischievously. "Well for a start, we can probably get you a shower."

How could I resist that? "I'm sold," I say. "Where's headquarters?" Hawkeye actually grins. "Abandoned back lot out by Central Park. The Mist makes it look like a tent city."

"I know where that is."

"Lead the way, then."

He didn't need to tell me twice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so here's chapter 2. Thanks to Ybird and The Poetic Nightmare for reviewing--yeah, I know the summary sucks. I'm working on that. Suggestions are appreciated and taken into consideration!**

**By the way, later in the chapter I briefly mention Io, a "victim of Hera's". In original Greek mythology, Zeus was constantly falling in love with mortal women, and Hera, in a fit of jealousy, would curse those unlucky women wheather they had anything to do with it or not. Originally, Io was turned into a cow by Hera and cursed into madness, more or less. So anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own PJO**

Ch. 2

The camp was impressive, to say the least. For a hastily thrown together tent city housing a menagerie of restless mythological nightmares, anyway.

As Hawkeye led me through the settlement, I couldn't help but quietly marvel at the familiar faces that had been scrounged up. Off to my right, a trio of darkly attractive _empousa _were perched around a fire that had been lit in a trash can. On my left, a traitor demigod was heaving huge slabs of raw, bloody meat to several of the biggest hellhounds I'd ever seen. They strained against their chains as they impatiently awaited the next piece of meat, their jowls quivering in anticipation. In front of me, some _dracaenae _and a Hyperborean giant were comparing weapons beneath a ragged mosquito net awning. A gloriously fearsome Sphinx pushed through the door of her tent as we passed, and exchanged a respectful nod with Hawkeye before stretching and bounding off into the night.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Hawkeye says quietly as we walk by a couple of telekhines beating the stuffing out of each other.

I nod grudgingly. "Where are we going exactly?" I ask.

"Zane," Hawkeye says. "We've got to prove to him that you're here."

I cock an eyebrow questioningly, and he explains. "Zane didn't think you'd be willing to come. Said you're too stubborn. He'll be pretty surprised, I think." I can't come up with a reply for that, so I stay silent as I limp along with Hawkeye. We pass many more soldiers, many of whom I recognize from our days serving under my Lord Kronos.

Finally, Hawkeye stops in front of a large black tent with a flag flapping high above it: a black scythe on a solid purple background. The symbol of Kronos.

The two demigods standing guard outside the tent entrance step aside for Hawkeye and me, but I catch their skeptical looks as they notice my unimpressive appearance. I try to ignore them.

Entering the tent behind Hawkeye, the first thing I see is Zane himself. He has his back turned to us, but I can tell he hasn't changed a bit. Almost seven feet tall and ripped with muscle, he cuts a spectacular figure, even from behind.

"Hawkeye!" he barks. "We've got--" he turns around, and his ice blue eyes fall on me. "What the hell happened to you?" he demands, not at all pleasantly.

"Fell down the stairs," I tell him calmly.

Zane scowls. "Where did you find her?" he asks Hawkeye.

"Digging through a dumpster in upper Manhattan."

Zane circles me like the predator he is. "Christine Savage," he mutters. "How long has it been since you've been in human form?"

I think for a minute, like it's actually a good question. "About eight months," I say, and Zane grimaces. He walks around me again, and I feel him taking in every bruise, every prominent rib I have, estimating how much fight I have left in me. Hawkeye stands off to one side, looking rather full of himself.

"Go get her cleaned up," Zane snaps suddenly. "And she could do with a bit of fattening up, too. We have enough walking skeletons at the moment." With that, he turns his back on us again and proceeds to act like we don't exist.

Hawkeye drags me out of the tent and back into the street. The settlement has begun to get more active; It's about six in the morning, and everyone is beginning to wake up. In half an hour or so, the place will be hopping.

I cast a dirty look back at Zane's tent. "You'd think he's never seen a street rat before," I comment.

Hawkeye snorts quietly. "Have you seen yourself lately?" he whispers. "I could have dug you up out of your own grave, the way you look."

I grumble to myself as Hawkeye leads me to several large boxes of faded but intact secondhand clothes. "You might be able to find something to wear," he says, pointing to one of the boxes. "Showers are in the gray tent on the left. It's not five-star, but. . ." he shrugs.

"Are you kidding?" I ask. "If it's clean water, I don't think I could care less."

He nods. "Find me when you're done and we'll get you a tent," he says as he walks off.

Riffling through the boxes of clothes, I find a suitable pair of jeans and a T-shirt that would have fit a six-year-old. I'm so dangerously skinny that it actually fits alright, even though I show off a good four inches of skin between the waistline of the jeans and the hem of the shirt.

Forty five minutes later, I am, for the first time in eight months, _clean_. To say that it felt spectacular would be an understatement. There's just something about washing almost a year's worth of blood and sweat and dirt off yourself that can't be explained. And to think that some people take a shower every night. Weird.

As I had expected, the activity level at the camp had skyrocketed by the time I step out into the weak early morning sunlight, dressed and tying my long red (and clean) hair back into a ponytail with a strip of cloth torn form my old sweatshirt.

A fistfight had broken out between an _empousa _and two powerful demigods. They rolled around on the asphalt, knocking over tents and cussing like sailors. Some telekhines watched the action from a distance, and I got the feeling they were taking bets on the outcome of the fight.

I start out in search of Hawkeye, getting a look at the camp as I do so. It was surprising that so many of Kronos's old soldiers had been discovered and recruited, and even more surprising how many new faces there were. I passed Echidna and one of her Chimeras, recently reborn, several years after being killed by a demigod not long after her encounter with Percy Jackson on top of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis.

There were quite a few new demigods too, most of them pretty young. I occurred to me that Hawkeye might be beating Camp Half-Blood's satyrs to undiscovered godlings, and turning them against the gods before Chiron could twist them into thinking their immortal parents actually cared that they existed.

I spotted Hawkeye from a distance. He was talking to a woman with ram's horns and long, dark scars running across her face. Despite how much I hated Hawkeye, I couldn't help but notice how handsome he was, tall and pale and lithe.

Nobody was entirely sure where Hawkeye had come from. He had turned up in Springfield, Illinois one morning several years ago, and had caught the attention of a lieutenant of Kronos, who had recruited him into the army. He was not a demigod, but he did have some unusual, godling-like abilities. His silver eye could see into the third dimension, for instance, so he could often be found staring at objects nobody else could see with one eye closed, which was kind of weird. Ghosts liked him too, even though he was certainly not a son of Hades. The closest we could guess, he was some variety of mortal, male demon.

Because of his ability to see into the third dimension, Hawkeye had been hand-picked by Kronos to be one of his elite soldiers, along with a couple of others. I too had eventually earned the respect of my Lord Kronos, but it hadn't been handed to me. I'd had to fight my way to the top, like Zane.

Hawkeye spots me as I approach (his eye can also see through the side of his head, I think) and does a perfect double take. "Wouldn't have recognized you if you hadn't been scowling at me like that," he says. The woman beside him chuckles.

"Watch it, buddy," I growl.

Hawkeye ignores me. "Io, this is Christine Savage, our werewolf. Christine--Io Grates, one of Hera's victims. She's generous enough to share tent space with you."

I give him a look.

"Alright, she's the only one I can find who isn't terrified of you or won't kill you in your sleep," he admits in exasperation. "But still. Don't murder each other, please."

"I won't bother her if she doesn't bother me," I promise.

"Good." Hawkeye stalks off, looking extremely harried.

Io smiles slightly. "So how long have you and Hawkeye known each other?"

"About four years."

"How did you meet?"

I break out in a really nasty grin. "I tried to kill him."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, I had just stepped out of the shower when a telekhine waddled up. "Are you Christine Savage?" he asks.

I shake my head vigorously, splattering him with water from my hair. "Yeah."

"Zane wants to see you," he says, looking annoyed. "He says he has a mission for you."

"Already, huh?" I ask. "Thanks." I flick my hair over my shoulder, getting water in the telekhine's eyes. He curses me in ancient Greek as I walk away.

When I find Zane, he's pacing back and forth in front of his tent. A hellhound and a demigod stand behind him. I don't know the hellhound, but, the demigod I recognize. He's Damian Vasquez, son of Apollo. We've worked together from time to time.

"There you are," Zane barks as I approach. "Get in line," he orders, motioning to my spot beside Damian. I fall obediently into place.

"Savage, this is Damian Vasquez and Mokkan. You three have been requested to stop a pair of new demigods making it into Camp Half-Blood in about an hour."

The three of us wait patiently for Zane to continue.

"Their satyr is thought to be Grover Underwood, who also found the children of the Big Three. I don't care about him. If you get a chance to kill him, great, but you _must_ stop those two demigods. They're twin brothers, sons of Demeter, thirteen years old. They killed two _dracaenae _by themselves a couple of days ago, without any help. If they ever get any proper training, they'll be a threat to us."

He turns to look at Mokkan, Damian and me. "It's your job to make sure they don't pass that magical border alive. I don't care how you stop them--kill them, capture them, I couldn't care less. Just don't let them escape. Got it?"

"Yessir."

Zane nods approvingly. "Mokkan, you can use shadow travel to get there. We'll send you in early so you don't miss them. Station yourselves in that tree grove about a quarter mile from the camp; They'll pass right by it, they always do. Savage, you are allowed a weapon if you wish, Vasquez, bow and arrows."

We nod.

"Good," Zane says, sounding like Hawkeye. "And remember," he hisses at us, "that if those two get into that camp, the consequences will be coming down on your heads. And you do _not _want that to happen."

Oh, yeah, like we really needed to know that.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next thing I know, I'm crouched with Damian and Mokkan the hellhound in the trees, just out of reach of the sunlight, all three of us watching the crest of the hill over which Underwood and the demigods would appear. To our right, the pine tree that marked the border of Camp Half-Blood was clearly visible, a little under a quarter of a mile away.

Our plan, while nothing spectacular, is the most effective option open to us. We had been informed that the demigods would be arriving on foot, which was good for us, since we were doing that too. Mokkan and I, both being large canines and therefore able to run much, much faster than the average demigod or satyr, would be in charge of chasing down the trio after they had passed, and Damian would defend us as best he could from a distance with his arrows. Damian's part in this plan was actually a lot more effective than it seems. I've seen that kid hit a passing butterfly from fifty feet away, in the middle of the night, in front of about sixty people. It was kind of unnatural, actually.

At long last, Mokkan's ears perk up, and he raises his head. I look at him, and he gives me a meaningful glance. "Here they come," I whisper to Damian.

Seconds later, Underwood appears in view, running for the pine tree, two boys with identical brown hair and hazel eyes right on his heels--er, hooves.

I quietly morph--the shape of my body changing, my eyes darkening, claws sprouting from my now-furry fingertips. Beside me, Damian draws an arrow and fits into his bow, drawing back the string.

He gives me a wickedly evil grin. "Get ready to rumble."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 is here! I also did some updating to chapters 1 and 2, nothing big, just grammar mistakes and run on sentences and stuff like that. Thinking up a new summary that isn't so bad, but I can't promise it'll be good. If you've got any suggestions, drop me a line, please! Read and review.**

Ch 3.

Underwood cleared the hill, the Demeter twins inches behind him, and shot by us, running for all they were worth.

Damian held up his hand, staying us until the trio were the right distance away. I kneaded my paws in anticipation as they got further and further away. Five feet. . . ten. . . fifteen. . . twenty. . .

My wolf senses were working overtime; I clearly heard every heavy footstep, every labored breath, could smell their anxiety and relief, mixed with Underwood's fear, for he had certainly smelt us. We were monsters, after all.

Mokkan and I were like rubber bands, stretched as taunt as we could go, longing to be released on our prey as our eyes followed them as they fled.

"Wait for it," Damian hisses at us, "wait for it. . ."

Underwood hears, and his head snaps around to look behind him, his pupils turning into slits in his terror.

"Go!" Damian yells, and before the word has even left his mouth, Mokkan and I have exploded out of the trees. My predator instincts kick into play as I run, straining to achieve maximum speed, as Mokkan is doing beside me. Damian steps out of the trees behind us, running just far enough for the magical border to be within shooting range, but I hardly notice.

The scent of fear floods my senses and brain, fueling me to greater heights. Ahead of us, the daytime sentries at the pine tree are yelling encouragement to Underwood and the Demeter twins, calling out for archers to pick off Mokkan and me.

My prey is panicking as they bolt for the border, making them clumsy and increasingly desperate. I'm running as fast as I am capable of, and the distance between me and the twins is quickly decreasing. Mokkan comes up beside me as we gain on them, his tongue lolling and tail wagging madly. I too have forgotten all dignity as my senses relish the kill that is to come.

The sentries at the pine tree are scrambling to save the twins and Underwood, but I know the archers aren't going to make it in time. A tall, muscular girl with stringy brown hair, probably a kid of Ares, steps forward towards the borderline, drawing her sword.

There is a loud hiss from behind me as Damian lets an arrow fly. It hit's the magical border and explodes with a loud bang, not three inches from the girl. Had she passed the border, Damian's excellent arrow would have nailed her between the eyes.

Looking furious, the girl screeches to a halt. She gets the message: _stay there, or else_. But she isn't happy about it.

The two demigods are merely feet in front of Mokkan and me and still about twenty feet from Camp Half-Blood. Underwood is slightly ahead of them, looking ready to pass out and screaming for help.

There is quite a crowd gathered under the pine tree now, and I fling myself to one side as someone throws a knife at me. Mokkan pulls ahead and, with a triumphant howl, lunges for the nearer of the twins. His teeth latch around the boy's arm, and both demigod and hellhound fall, rolling in the grass.

I continue running, and several of Damian's arrows screech by above my head as the demigods at the tree go nuts, and explode against the border in quick succession. The remaining twin has ten feet left to the border when the Camp Half-Blood archers get their act together and open fire on me. I begin to zigzag, but that wastes precious time, so I drop it and trust to luck and Damian's uncanny aiming to keep me alive.

One arrow gets me in the back left paw slowing me slightly, but all the others either miss or are thrown off course as Damian collides his own arrows with the enemy's celestial bronze-tipped ones.

Underwood throws himself across the border.

The boy is inches behind him.

Hands reach out to haul him to safety, but then Zane's warning flashes across my mind. I fling myself wildly forward and feel my fangs sink deep into the boy's ankle. Immediately I whirl around, yanking him out of Underwood's grasp and dragging his upper body back across the border, into the open. Debris rains down on me as Damian's arrows explode against everything they hit, blinding me and singeing the fur on me ears.

But I have the boy.

He is drug along behind me as I flee, his fingers digging into the soil as he tries to slow down, but it's not much use in the end.

"Shoot 'im!" I yell at Damian around a mouthful of ankle. He hears me and leaves off covering my back long enough to aim at the boy. I hear a juicy _thunk_ as an arrow enters the boy's neck, and he goes limp.

I drop the carcass and run unhindered for the safety of the thicket I started from. Damian and Mokkan follow, all three of us cackling in mad delight.

Panting, we throw ourselves into the trees and disappear from view. "The other one?" I ask, my tongue lolling.

"Toast," Damian replies. "Mokkan made short work of him."

I pull the arrow out of my paw with my teeth. "We should get out of here," I say between ragged breaths. "That lot'll be after our blood."

Damian throws a glance back at the milling, mourning crowd back on Half-Blood Hill and nods. "Yeah," he pants. "We can go out the back of this thicket--there's a park on the other side. Mokkan can shadow travel us back to camp from there."

Mokkan, looking exhausted but willing, wags his tail agreeably.

"Great show by the way, Christine." Damian grins as we jog through the trees. "Shoulda had a video camera."

"_Show_?" I ask. "That was a close one! I nearly lost him."

Mokkan whines.

"Yeah, you did good too," I say. "I missed most of your action though."

"It was great," Damian says. "The kid shrieked like a girl before Mokkan took his head off."

"I love it when they do that," I agree.

We make it to the park without getting spotted, and Mokkan finds a nice shady spot to shadow travel into. I know it's exhausting for him, and get the feeling that he'll be sleeping for quite a while after out return. After morphing back into a human and glancing around to look for anyone who might have seen us, I slide up onto Mokkan's back behind Damian, and the three of us vanish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, sorry the update took so long! I'm on vacation, and internet service is hard to get here, but I'm working on my chapters! **

**Ch. 4**

We reappear inside Zane's tent. It's a good thing the tent's so big, because Mokkan collapses on the spot, snoring loudly. Damian and I barely have time to leap from his back and avoid being squashed beneath two tons of sweaty hellhound. I guess shadow travel, violence, and exciting chases all in one day really take it out of a guy.

Zane, who had flung himself out of the way just in time, stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. "Well?"

"They're goners," I report.

"Dead as doornails," Damian agrees.

Zane nods. "Glad to hear it. Did you get Underwood as well?"

"Nah," Damian says, "missed that one."

"Pity," Zane says. "We could do with one less meddling satyr in our lives. But you got the twins, which was your original assignment."

"Any more dirty deeds you need us to do?" I ask, casting the snoozing Mokkan an odd look as his snoring gets louder and he snorts several times.

"Not at the moment," Zane says. "Just go get that wound looked at, if you think it needs to be." He had noticed the sticky blood soaking my shoe. "You are excused. And take that hound with you."

We thank him and hurriedly vacate the tent, dragging Mokkan with us as we go. With some difficulty, we haul him over to a nice dark spot against a brick wall and leave him there to sleep off the effects of shadow traveling.

I turn away from Mokkan, only to almost step on Hawkeye. I stagger back in surprise, and he cocks an eyebrow.

"Watch it!" I snap. "You keep sneaking up on me."

Hawkeye gives me a scornful look. "If I was any louder—" he begins, but I cut him off.

"If you were any louder, something or other would hear you, and you'd be dead, and my life would be a whole lot better. Yeah, we get it. What do you want this time?"

"I was going to ask how badly you screwed up your mission, but seeing as you're alive, I guess that's useless."

"If we were dead," Damian wonders out loud while I grind my teeth, "how would you be able to ask us how badly we screwed up?"

Hawkeye winks his silver eye. "I'm good at stuff like that. It's a newly acquired skill. Besides, it's not you I'm worried about. It's _her_." He looks at me.

"Oh, thanks," I say snidely. "Next time I need a babysitter in, like, _never_, I'll give you a call."

"Why in Hades would I babysit you? You can go drop dead for all I care. It's the havoc you wreak everywhere you go that bothers me. If anyone needs protection, it's the rest of us."

Damian sniggers.

I poke Hawkeye in the chest. "The day you manage to make it three whole hours without pissing someone off," I snarl, "I'll turn myself in. Fortunately, I don't have much to worry about."

"You're just trying to pick a fight, now."

"You bet I am. Anytime you wanna die, buddy, you just give me a call."

Damian sighs in mock boredom, interrupting us. "You two sound like an old married couple," he comments.

"You can't talk," I snap. You're the one that asked the question that _started_ all this."

"No way," Damian protests. "Hestarted it, sneaking up on us like that."

I smirk. "Oh, yeah, Hawkeye, _sneaking up _on us like that," I say, giving Hawkeye an _I told you so _look.

Hawkeye mutters something I choose to ignore, my other option being to kick his skinny ass. "Yeah, blame everything on me," he says sarcastically.

"Yes, I think I will," I decide. "You're very presence makes me mad. Stay away from me." Do you know how many times I've told Hawkeye to stay away from me in the last four years? More than I can count. And notice who I'm yelling at. Yeah, I think it's a lost cause, too.

Hawkeye and I stomp off in opposite directions, both grumbling under our breath, leaving Damian standing alone beside Mokkan and laughing to himself.

"So, how did it go?" Io asks me when I get to our tent. "You look mad."

I slump down on the floor. "The mission went great. I haven't had that much fun in ages. Hawkeye's just being his usual charming self, that's all."

Io shakes her head. "You two have it in for each other, I say. I don't get how you can both be in the same army, constantly working together, fighting for the same thing, and still be at each other's throats."

"We're villains," I mutter. "Friendly wasn't in the job description."

Io shrugs. "Suit yourself, I guess. But there's a campfire out by Echidna's tent though, if you want to drop by. Predak and his telekhines raided the grocery store up the street. Hauled quite a load from what I hear. Predak says you're more than welcome to come." She leaves.

Stretching out on the floor, I allow myself to relax for several minutes before mopping up the wound on my foot. It bled a lot, so it looks serious, but it isn't. I'll probably have a limp for another week of two, but other than that, it's fine.

After testing out the bandage and putting my bloody shoe back on, I slip out of the tent and inhale deeply, scenting the air. It's still only about two 'o clock in the afternoon, so I have the rest of the day to waste. I decide to check out the campfire after all. Like Damian and Hawkeye, Predak the telekhine and I go way back to my first days serving Kronos. They were three of the original five companions I had picked up—Damian, Predak, and Hawkeye, along with Danielle the hellhound and Laura the _empousa_, both of whom are dead, and me. The six of us had done all kinds of undercover stuff for Knonos when he had been in power. They were the closest things I had to friends, which don't exist in my life.

Predak spots me right off the bat upon my arrival at the campfire, despite the crowd. "Christine Savage!" he calls from across the flames and the chatter, and I raise my hand in greeting. "Catch!"

He tosses me a Coke—my first one in three years. Oh, the things us homeless street rat mutants miss out on, huh?

I pick my way through the crowd and sit between Predak and Damian. "And how exactly did you get your flippers on this gold?" I ask, motioning to the mountain of comfort food beside us. Damian groans, and I get the feeling he's heard this story more than once before.

Predak absolutely glows at my interest. "It was fabulous!" he exclaims, his pointy little teeth glittering. "We took it right out of the supermarket up the road away, y'know, the one right by the police station? So anyway. . ."

For the next couple of hours, we listen to Predak and his telekhine gang tell immensely entertaining stories full of bravery and self-heroism and much crafty outwitting of hopeless human cops (none of which I believe) as we munch on stolen, fire-toasted food. Even Hawkeye comes and joins us after a while, and although I flip him the bird on sight, sticks around for a s'more or two, which is unusual for someone like him.

Remember how I told you earlier that everyone who served under Kronos was there for a reason? We aren't evil, usually. We're just misunderstood, underappreciated and overlooked, and we're sick of it. If we had been a bit luckier in life, we'd be no different than precious Percy Jackson and his fan club up there at Camp Half-Blood, or even better, no different than the average mortal. But we're stuck here, and as long as we can see the gods as they truly are, greedy and uncaring, we are _not _going to sit here and let them forget about us. Those gods rubbed us the wrong way, and you can bet they're gonna hear about it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Alright, troops, gather 'round!"

Zane is perched on a hastily assembled platform in the middle of the camp, calling us to him. It's been a week since my attack on Underwood and the Demeter twins with Mokkan and Damian, and we're all starving for some bloodshed. There have been several missions to run down new demigods as they race for the border, but those have all been clean-cut and successful, and aren't satisfying our need for action well enough. The bigger monsters, like the giants, _dracaenae,_ and the Sphinx, who can't participate in these little life-or-death races, are getting increasingly bored and touchy. Fights among the rest of the troops, some proving fatal, are breaking out too, as we get impatient and mean. All in all, you know that when we stoop to killing each other, we're desperate for some violence.

"We have a chance to breach Camp Half-Blood's borders tonight!" Zane calls, and the assembly explodes.

He waits for the howls and shrieks to die down—it takes a while—before continuing. "At eight-thirty tonight, the border will be revoked for exactly six seconds, enough time for their mortal oracle to enter camp. We'll use these six seconds to get soldiers into the camp. You won't have to worry about back out; the border in only effective from the outside, assuming you live long enough to worry about that." He gives us a strange look, like he's challenging us to come out of this alive.

A telekhine at the back of the crowd speaks up. "How can we get into the camp in only six seconds? There's bound to be demigods crawling all over the border; they're not stupid. They'll see us before we can even get close!"

Zane shoots a cold look in his direction. "Well, you don't have much to worry about, since you're not going. But he does have a point. That's why only the fastest of you will be coming with us. There's enough underbrush around to provide sufficient cover, and hellhounds and _empousa_ can blend into the shadows. That, along with the Mist, will allow us to get close enough to enter the camp, if you move fast."

"Won't they be able to put the border back up when they know they're under attack?" a girl demigod on my right asks.

Zane shakes his head, but it's Hawkeye who answers. "They pre-program how long the border will be down," he says from his spot leaning against the platform below Zane. "For example, they'll tell it when to go down a long time before it actually does. They can change that time, as long as it hasn't come yet. But once the border does go down, they can't do anything about it. They won't be able to put it back up until that time they set it for is over."

"But won't they know we're there, even if they can't see us?" asks the same girl.

"Well, they don't have much choice do they?" says Zane. "They have to get their oracle into camp sooner or later, and to do that the border has to go. They have to decide if they want an oracle or guaranteed safety. Any more questions?"

"Who'll be going?" calls out a _dracaenae_.

"Hawkeye and I will be at the head of the operation," Zane says. "We've handpicked twenty-eight others to come with us, the ones we think have the best chance of getting in the camp, and are also small enough to hide properly."

A groan goes up from the giants.

An _empousa_ raises a dainty hand. "Are we after their oracle girl, or are we just killing people?" she asks.

"Get anyone and anything you can reach. We're not picky, are we?" Hawkeye says, and a ripple of unpleasant laughter goes through the crowd.

The corners of Zane's mouth twitch. "Any other questions?"

Nobody speaks up.

"Hawkeye, you may proceed. If Hawkeye calls your name, report to my tent immediately." With that, Zane drops down off the stage and disappears from view. Hawkeye hops up in his place and begins to call off names he appears to have memorized. The first fifteen or so are hellhounds, Mokkan among them. After that, some people from other species get called out; some _empousa_, a giant scorpion, two _dracaenae_. Damian, standing beside me with Predak, is among the three demigods that get chosen, and I slap him a high five. Instead of heading off to Zane's tent right away with the others, he stays beside me.

"I'm only number twenty-four," he whispers. "You'll be picked too, I bet."

"Yeah," says Predak, from below me. "If not, we'll kill Hawkeye for you."

"Not if I get him first," I whisper back.

Sure enough, the next three names Hawkeye calls off are mutants, like me. Finally, "—and. . . Christine Savage."

"Told you so," Damian says.

From the stage, Hawkeye shoots me a look that clearly says I was not one of _his_ choices. Pretty sure he left my name for last on purpose, I bare my teeth and flip him the middle finger over the head of the crowd (he's been getting that a lot from me lately) before stalking off with Damian.

"See you guys," Predak calls to us as he waddles away with everyone who isn't going on the mission. "Good luck!"

When we get to Zane's tent, everyone else is already gathered, and Hawkeye arrives just behind us.

"Okay," Zane says when he has everyone's attention. "If you are standing here, you are considered to be one of the fastest free-lance fighters in our army. Some of you are considered to be even better than that, ranging among the fastest in action today, that includes both serving the gods and fighting them."

For less than a moment, Zane's eyes seem to flicker towards me, and possibly Mokkan too, but it happens to fast that I dismiss it as my paranoia. But then I notice both Damian and Hawkeye watching me out of the corner of their eye, and I can't help but wonder briefly what kind of stories about me are floating around out there.

Zane continues to talk. "Being included in an operation attempting to pull off a stunt such as this is a position of great honor that demands respect, so I expect you to act like it to some degree, no matter how _barbarian_ your style usually is." Once again, I notice more than one pair of eyes flicking in my direction. I debate whether or not to treat Hawkeye to the bird again, figuring that he's the guy behind that last one. Eating garbage is not _barbarian_, and neither is eating people's pets, or even . . . yeah, I think I'll just stop there. Alright, he's got me on that one.

"Now, as you were informed earlier, our entire operation is hit-and-run, so you will have only five minutes in Camp Half-Blood after—and if—you breach the border. When those five minutes are up, we'll call a retreat, and you'll have exactly thirty seconds to get to the top of Half-Blood Hill and back across the border before we leave. If you're not back by then, you're on your own. It's as simple as that. While you're in the camp, do whatever you want to, I don't care; torch the forest, ransack the living quarters, whatever. Just get out of there as fast as you can when we start the retreat. Any questions? Good.

"We leave in an hour and a half. Be here and ready to go." With that, Zane disappears into his tent and ceases to acknowledge our existence.

The group disperses, chattering excitedly as they go back to their tents to prepare for tonight. But something is bothering me slightly. I stay behind, waiting for Hawkeye.

"What do you want?" he asks as I come up beside him. Funny how the only way we can ever greet each other is by asking what the other one wants _this_ time.

"You're a jerk. I am not a _barbarian_, thanks very much."

"Whatever. You stuck around just to tell me that?"

"Well, no. There's something going on here. What are you and Zane up to?"

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "What makes you think that?"

"Because I know how you work. And both you and Zane are going on the mission. That makes no sense, unless you were planning on tackling something big," I observe.

Hawkeye stands in silence for a minute. "You know how Zane figured out that Jackson's Achilles spot is on his lower back?"

"Yeah . . . so?"

"Well, that's still almost impossible to hit. Unless we have Jackson, like, duct taped to a tree or something, anyone's chances of nailing him in battle are extremely low. So Zane and I figured that until we know exactly where we need to hit, we won't let Jackson catch on that we know his secret."

"And?"

"You don't have to be in physical pain to be miserable," Hawkeye says softly. I get the feeling that he's speaking from personal experience here. "So we're gonna mess with Jackson's mind a bit. Like all demigods, he has a fatal flaw, too."

I catch on immediately. "The girl?" I ask breathlessly.

A smirk plays at Hawkeye's lips. "She's a good fighter, always right in the line of fire. If we can distract Jackson long enough . . ."

I grin. "That is freaking evil, Hawkeye. I love it."

"Most people will," he whispers before walking off and disappearing into the labyrinth of tents.

I return to the tent Io and I share. This is the craziest, most insecure plan I've ever heard, but oh gods, it's gonna be fun.


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, before we start, I just want to tell you that this story has absolutley nothing to do with a prophecy, I just needed an excuse to get Rachel to camp so they would have to revoke the border :) Thanx to everyone who comments on my stories.**

Ch. 5

Two hours later, I'm lying in the underbrush about thirty feet from Camp Half-Blood's border, in full wolf form. All around me, the other twenty-nine members of the strike force are hidden in various ways, all of us silently waiting, watching, tense and eager.

On Half-Blood Hill, the demigods are restless. They know we're here, but they can't see us. Hawkeye has strengthened and manipulated the Mist to the best of his ability, and we're all but invisible, even to the demigods. The Oracle girl might still be able to see us, but that's a chance we have to take. The demigods are in great need of their oracle, since controversy about the next prophecy has risen, and no one seems to know much about it. Some new demigods had made it across the border before we had started picking off the newcomers, and had caught the attention of everyone. Some people thought they might be the subjects of the next huge prophecy. Personally I didn't care for them much unless they were dead, but oh well.

Beside me, Damian kneels in the loam, tapping his fingers against his leg and looking impatient. He has ADHD like most demigods, and all this waiting is killing him. He glances at me, and we exchange understanding nods.

Many of the hellhounds are waiting further back than the rest of us, because they are the fastest overall, and have a better chance of making it to the border from a distance than anyone else. Up ahead of me by about fifteen feet the slowest of the strike force--the other two demigods, a couple of mutants, and the _dracaenae--_are skillfully camouflaged into the trees. Damian and I are about halfway between the two groups, along with Zane and Hawkeye, the _empousa_, the giant scorpion, and a few hellhounds. A skinny, brown-haired boy with a huge pair of midnight black bat wings sprouting from between his shoulder blades, a mutant like myself, crouches on the other side of Damian.

Up on Half-Blood Hill, an old man in a wheelchair approaches the border. A tall boy with black hair and striking green eyes walks beside him, fingering a ballpoint pen. I stiffen unconsciously and Chiron and Percy Jackson join the sentries beneath the pine tree.

"Are they still there?" Jackson mutters to Chiron, who nods.

"Yes," the centaur says calmly.

"You can't see them though, can you?"

"No Percy, I cannot," Chiron says. "There is little I could do even if I could see them."

Jackson paces back and forth, looking beyond stressed. "You're sure there's no other way to get Rachel into camp?"

"Rachel is a mortal, Percy. In order for a mortal to gain access into Camp Half-Blood, the border must be revoked. If there was any other way, you know I would try it. Unfortunately, this must be done. We need Miss Dare to decipher the prophecy."

"But does it have to be _now_? Can't we postpone it?" Jackson asks.

"Prophecies don't wait Percy," Chiron reminds him. "You of all people should know that."

A pretty girl about my age with grey eyes and golden blonde hair appears out of thin air beside Jackson, shoving a Yankees baseball cap into her back pocket. No one says anything, but her eyes begin to scour the underbrush we are hidden in.

Silence reigns again on both sides of the border as we all await the arrival of Rachel Elizabeth Dare. The demigods pace and fidget anxiously, while the rest of us barely dare to breath in fear of giving ourselves away.

And at eight-twenty-eight on the spot, a tall man with eyes all over his body and a girl with frizzy red hair and marker-decorated jeans begin to approach us from the bottom of the hill.

Dare's eyes immediatly fall on us, and she freezes. "Chiron . . ."

"Keep walking," he tells her calmly. "If they were after you, I suspect that you would already be dead." He sure got that one right.

Dare licks her lips nervously, but continues up the hill beside the many-eyed security guard, if a little timidly. At the border, the demigods have formed a defensive line, shoulder to shoulder. I recognize Nico Di Angelo, Connor and Travis Stoll, and the Ares girl form my chase with the Demeter twins the week before, the one who killed Kronos's drakon. Underwood is there too, along with many others I don't know.

"Chiron . . ." Dare whispers again as she walks by our hellhounds. "I don't think we should do this."

"Can you see them?" Chiron asks her.

"Not well," she whispers, "but kind of." Her eyes half-focus on me, and I bare my teeth experimentally. She bites her lip and chokes down a yelp.

"How many are there?" Jackson asks.

"I don't know," Dare says, looking over her shoulder as she approaches the border. "I can't see them very good. I've never encountered Mist like this before."

If I could have patted Hawkeye on the back right then, I would have.

"Chiron," Dare begs, "please don't do this. There's still time to stop it. This . . . this isn't right, I mean, I've seen something about this, I--I had a dream about it . . ."

There's some eloquence for you, huh?

"Thirty seconds," the grey-eyed girl with the Yankees cap calls out, looking up from her watch long enough to draw a long, celestial bronze knife. To her left, Jackson uncaps his pen, and it grows into a long, glittering sword.

"No!" Dare exclaims. "Chiron, you can't do this. Something—

"My dear," Chiron interrupts, looking sympathetic, "we will be facing a bigger threat in the long run than the present one. Our second major prophecy may be upon us, and if that is the case, then this is the least of our worries."

Dare opens her mouth to argue, but the blonde girl cuts across her. "Fifteen seconds," she yells. Along the border, the line of demigods draws their weapons. I raise myself several inches off the ground, my legs bunched like springs.

"This is wrong," Dare whispers, but if anyone hears, they don't let on.

"Five seconds," says the girl. She's not looking at her watch anymore. "Four, three, two, one. . ." A sizzle like dumping water on a hot fire splits the air, and something seems to leave the atmosphere. It isn't an obvious change or a big one, but it is noticeable.

The border is gone. Our six second opening has begun.

Right on cue, Mokkan's chilling howl echoes from behind me as our strike force surges out of hiding. Hawkeye releases the Mist, and we are revealed for who we really are, visible for all to see. A _dracaenae _and an _empousa_ explode instantly into dust as celestial bronze arrows hit them, but we don't pause. The hellhounds and I have outstripped the rest in only a few bounds, kicking up grass, and the giant scorpion, surprisingly, is beside us. A hellhound at my side dissolves, a knife between her eyes, and I pull out in front with Mokkan, only moments from bursting out of hiding. When we're five feet from the now nonexistent borderline, I leap forward, leaving Mokkan behind and—_WHAM_—hit a demigod archer in the chest with all four paws, latching my jaw around her throat. She topples backward and we roll down the hill into the camp, throwing dust and clumps of grass and droplets of blood in every direction.

I toss the body to one side and leap up, following a gravel path into the heart of the camp, unchallenged since all the demigods are either down in their cabins or engaged in the furious battle now raging on Half-Blood Hill.

I don't slow as I come to a rectangle of cabins, all different shapes and colors, and without hesitation, burst through the wall of the nearest one, making a wolf-sized back entrance. Aphrodite kids scream and send designer clothes and makeup flying everywhere as they scatter. I grab somebody's ankle in my teeth and make a bolt for the door, not bothering to open it since smashing it off its hinges is just so much more fun.

Dragging the Aphrodite kid out into the open, I shake my head vigorously, relishing the fresh wave of blood that floods my mouth. Several demigods from another cabin approach from behind, but before they can come close, I slam the Aphrodite brat viciously into a wall and run for it. I pass our giant scorpion trashing the Apollo cabin, a human arm in one giant claw, a bed mattress in the other, stomping out a wall and throwing around clothes and iPods and haiku books. A hellhound races by me, chasing down a shrieking tree nymph. So far we seem to be the only three to make it into the camp, not counting the fighters on Half-Blood Hill, but that's alright.

I race down the line of cabins, almost colliding with an Athena camper as he leaps out in front of me, and I barely manage to save the tip of my nose from getting shorn off. I hit the dirt and roll backwards for all I'm worth as he lunges forward and stabs down, the spear tip sinking into the ground where I had been standing. I leap to my paws and strike a defensive stance, my lips drawn back to reveal my yellowed fangs.

The boy takes a lightning-fast step to one side and brings the spear in from the right, forcing me to fling myself back. I dart forward and grab the spear handle as it flashes by, ripping it from his grasp and throwing it to one side. I come in for an attack on my defenseless victim, but he whips a small pocketknife out of nowhere and brings it down into my shoulder. The blade and half the bone handle completely disappear into my flesh, inflicting a deep, painful stab wound. Snarling, I leap forward and slam into the boy head-on, using my bodyweight to shove him off balance. He staggers back several steps, and I flash forward and grab his hand in my teeth, rearing up on my hind paws and body-slamming him into the dirt. He struggles strongly against me, bruising me in several places, but I hold him down long enough to get a good grip on his neck. Rolling quickly to one side, I jerk my head to the left, snapping his neck and throwing him over me. He hits the ground ten feet to my right, and does not rise again.

I get back to my feet and return to reality. Up ahead of me, a hellhound is giving an Ares demigod a run for his money, picking him up and throwing him against a cabin even as I watch. The giant scorpion has moved on from the Apollo cabin to the Hermes one, and is now tipping tables and shredding blankets and pillows. Feathers and bits of fluff from the pillows drift through the air for twenty feet in every direction, like snowflakes. Another hellhound, arrows sticking out of his back like oddly placed porcupine quills, is stomping some unlucky satyrs into the ground.

A daughter of a minor god jumps down off of the roof of a nearby cabin and lands beside me, sword drawn. Before I can kick her butt however, a cry like a hawk echoes through the air, loud and sharp and impossible to ignore. Hawkeye's retreat signal. My five minutes are up.

I shoulder the girl out of the way and race for the borderline. But before I can go more than fifty feet, a hellhound bounds up beside me and pokes me urgently in the ribs with her nose.

"What?" I demand sharply, screeching to a halt. The thirty-second retreat time is ticking by.

The hellhound, Katrina, pokes me with her nose again and runs over to a cabin, the Hades one, I think. She raises a paw and scratches at the wall. I stare at her, quite convinced she's gone insane.

Katrina glances back at me and registers my confusion. She whines and touches her nose to the wall. My eyes narrow. Not the wall. A torch of green flame, one of the two placed on either side of the doorway. Beyond the destroyed doorframe, more of the torches of the Greek fire are visible, lining a short entrance hall.

A _torch._

"You're brilliant," I breathe to Katrina. She'd noticed the torches immediately, but judging by the claw marks scored deep into the dark stone, had not been coordinated enough to remove them from the wall.

I morph into human form, ignoring my screaming shoulder, and pry both troches from the wall. The giant scorpion and the other two hellhounds, who had noticed Katrina and I pause and had come back to check out the action, stand eagerly behind me. I place the handle of one of the torches in Katrina's mouth, and give the other one to the giant scorpion. I step into the cabin and take down the other three, distributing them to the hellhounds and keeping one for myself.

"We're gonna miss the retreat," I mutter, "but it'll be worth it."

The scorpion and the two hellhounds run off to the cabins, touching every one they pass. I throw my torch into the air and morph back into a wolf, catching the torch in my teeth again as it falls. Katrina glances delightedly at me, and the two of us bolt for the forest. Tree nymphs spot us from a distance and, guessing our intentions, begin to scream.

Katrina and I run to the edge of the forestry and touch the Greek fire to every tree we can reach. The result is instant: a smoking, reeking green forest fire, spreading faster than I can run and sending satyrs scrambling for water, tree nymphs withering helplessly on the ground as their tree is the next to burn.

I toss my torch into the greenery and leave it there to smolder; Katrina follows my example, and we charge back through the camp, howling to draw our three partners in crime back to us. They immediately drop their torches on the nearest flammable object and run to us. The five of us haul tail back up to Half-Blood Hill, leaving our fiery destruction to burn away, until Jackson puts it out, at least.

The problem now was that, as I had expected, the rest of the strike force had abandoned us minutes ago, and we were on our own. Also, there was nothing to distract the demigods, so we were now coming under extreme attack as we flee. Shouts of "There's some more!" and "Get them!" ring out as we approach Half-Blood Hill.

The hellhounds and I run erratically, trying to avoid the arrows, knives, rocks, pinecones, and an assortment of other odd projectile missiles that rain down on us in torrents. The giant scorpion is the only one not worried about that; everything just bounces off his shell. Behind us, Underwood the satyr raises his pipes to his lips and begins to play. Roots erupt from the ground beneath my feet and tie themselves in knots around my paws, creeping up my legs, trying to drag me into the earth. It takes all my waning strength and momentum to escape them. One hellhound is too weak to fight off the roots, and they wrap around his ribcage, crushing him. Arrows erupt from his body, and we have no choice but to leave him there to die.

The remaining four of us are hard-pressed as we reach the top of Half-Blood Hill. Nico Di Angelo, blood oozing from a cut above his right eye, notices us, and a determined look flashes across his face. Without warning, a dark crevasse opens fifteen feet in front of us, and ten or so bare skeletons crawl out, turning to watch us approach. I glance at the others; the giant scorpion shows no sign of exhaustion, scuttling along at a good pace, but Katrina and the other hellhound are getting weak fast. If they take on the skeletons, they might not make it all the way to the border.

Making a snap decision, I pull out in front of them, leap over the carcass of a demigod, and plow into the skeletons head first. Bones fly everywhere and pale fingers claw at my fur as the skeletons try to slow me down. Behind me, the other three run in my wake, avoiding the worst of the attack.

We jump the crevasse and close in on the last twenty feet between us and the border. I shake one of Di Angelo's skeletons off my back, weave between two demigods, take a kick in the ribs, dodge and arrow, shove Connor and Travis Stoll out of my way, and throw myself across the border in eight seconds flat. I hit the ground and roll, somersaulting head over tail down the hill and closer freedom. A large rock nails me in the ribs as I go. Leaping up at the bottom of the hill, I continue to run until I am beyond the range of missiles.

Katrina, the scorpion, and the other hellhound stagger up behind me, panting and gasping, drenched in blood and sweat. "Wait," I say quietly, and all four of us stay still, waiting for the pin to drop. For several seconds, there is nothing; and then—

_BOOOOOMMM!!!!_

Laughing and jumping around in joy despite our fatigue, we watch delightedly as a thick column of black smoke hundreds of feet high curls up from Camp Half-Blood, and we can feel the heat from the explosion even from a distance. You see, some people forget that Greek fire has a late discharge. If allowed to burn freely long enough, it will explode violently. We had set all the cabins and half the forest on fire, and they hadn't been fast enough to put it out, unfortunately for them.

We had destroyed half the camp.

Howling our victory to the darkening sky, my companions and I disappear into the distance, running for New York City, as the curses and screams of the demigods ring out behind us.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally, after three hours of trudging through the all too familiar NYC streets, we arrive at our camp. The hellhounds, who, after an exhausting fight, three unsuccessful attempts each at shadow travel back to camp, and a seemingly endless walk through the city, look ready to pass out with relief.

I pat Katrina on the shoulder, which is as high as I can reach, when the tents come into view. "You did great," I tell her. "That idea with the Greek fire was amazing. They'll be repairing it for months."

Katrina gives me a tired doggy grin and wags her tail weakly, in a _you-didn't-do-too-badly-yourself _kind of look.

A Hyperborean giant on guard spots us as we approach, and sends word ahead via telling a telekhine what's going on and then throwing him across camp. As expected, news of our blowing up the forest had traveled faster than we had, so as we arrive, we get lots of congratulations and admiring looks from the night guard.

"Where is everyone?" I ask an _empousa_, noticing that the camp seems nearly deserted.

"They're up celebrating," she simpers, sounding more than a little annoyed. "Over by the stage they built for Zane to talk on earlier. And I'm stuck _here_, on _night guard_."

"What are they celebrating?"

"Oh, I suppose Zane will want to tell you all about it himself," the _empousa _says, flipping her shockingly bleached blonde hair around and sticking up her nose. "He's been quite full of himself tonight, giving that little rat better living space than good, loyal soldiers. It's ridiculous!"

Katrina and I exchange a look. "Demon, what in Hades' name are you talking about?"

She's about to reply when Damian and Predak appear from the darkness, grinning hugely. "Christine!"

Damian runs forward and shamelessly flings his arms around my neck in a hug, surprising me. "Where have you been?" he asks. "We've been worried sick. We knew you guys set off the explosion, but we didn't know if you ever made it out or not."

"Yeah, well, we had to hoof it through town," I tell them. "Nobody was up for shadow travel."

"I would say so," Predak comments, trying to pry an abnormally large pinecone out of a chink in between two pieces of the scorpion's shell. "You lot look terrible."

"Tell me about it. You're not even the one that got ambushed by skeletons," I say.

Predak grimaces. "Ouch. I wanna hear all about this escapade of yours later on, remember. It sounds like I missed all the fun. You'd better go check in with Zane first, though. He'll want to show off his prize to you, I'll bet."

The _empousa_ makes a high pitched "humph!" noise in her throat, and turns her back on us.

"What's up with her?" I ask, following Damian and Predak through the camp.

"You'll see," Damian says. "If I was an _empousa_, I'd be ticked too, I guess. Anyway, Zane and Hawkeye apparently had this planned out a while ago. It's a great way to get under Jackson's skin."

"The girl?" I exclaim in disbelief. "They actually got her?"

"Hey, how did _you_ know?" Predak asks indignantly. "Let me in on the act next time you eavesdrop on powerful people! I'm good at that."

"No, Hawkeye told me. He was acting weird before the mission, and I asked him what was up."

"And he actually told you? Wow."

We had reached the center of the camp, where the majority of the camp's occupants were gathered, chatting to each other. A huge fire burns at the center of the crowd, near the stage. Damian and Predak lead the hellhounds, the scorpion, and me over to Zane, who is speaking to several _dracaenae_ with a very superior, almighty look on his face.

"Ah, Christine," he says upon our arrival. "Good to have all of you alive. Your survival means we only lost seven soldiers during the mission; quite a few less than I originally predicted. And we are all quite impressed with your stunt with the Greek fire as well. Quite ingenious, Katrina."

"Good gods, Christine Savage, what happened to you? Fall off a cliff lately?"

And there was Hawkeye, ruining the moment right on time, as usual. How pleasant.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I mutter as he walks up. "I never get tired of your polite and encouraging comments."

"Anytime," he says as Predak and Damian fight to keep a straight face.

"So I hear your plan worked out better than expected, huh?" I ask Hawkeye feigning disinterest.

He smirks, his silver eye glittering spectacularly. "Come meet our guest, Christine."

Over by the fire, bound to a street lamp and being harassed by some telekhines, a figure stirs weakly as I approach. On closer look, I realize that it is indeed a person. A pretty girl about my age, with grey eyes and golden blonde hair.

Annabeth Chase.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

"C'mon, it was a strike of genius, admit it," Hawkeye chides me the next day as we walk through camp, heading over to Zane's tent, where the prisoner is being held.

"It was clever," I say grudgingly.

"Clever? I snatch the love of Jackson's life out from under his nose and all you can come up with for me is _clever_?" he protests.

"Alright, alright, it was mildly amazing," I admit, "but you didn't actually do it."

"I did too. Zane distracted Jackson, I jumped her, and Mokkan carried her around for us. It was a combined effort."

"Only after she almost took your head off, yeah. And _I _torched the forest and half the cabins," I remind him. "If that's not called lasting damage, nothing is. I didn't see you causing havoc, notice."

"I was busy setting up emotional turmoil for Jackson by capturing his girlfriend," Hawkeye says, "and besides, Zane seems to think you caused enough damage than the whole Rebel Camp put together could have."

The Rebel Camp had become the nickname for our camp over the last couple of days. Those that lived in it were called the Rebels (duh). I grin. "Does he now? Well, that is one of my better talents."

Hawkeye rolls his eyes. "I've noticed. And that fire thing wasn't even your idea, you know, in case you've forgotten already."

"You're just jealous you didn't think it up yourself. It'd bring your total of good ideas that work up to, what, two? That must be a real shocker for a modest thing like you."

"Whatever, Christine."

"And you could have freaking _waited_ for us, you know. We were only a couple of minutes late, and half dead on our feet. That's not a good way to make friends, abandoning them on the battlefield," I berate Hawkeye.

He looks exasperated. "We would have left anyone, Christine. That was the plan. If you missed the retreat, you were on your own. I don't think it really matters anyway, seeing as you're healthy enough to chew me out."

"Point made," I say fairly. "But you still have stooped below my expectations for you, which were pretty low in the first place. That's not a very flattering place to be, in my humble opinion."

"Humble? My gods, I don't think you could have chosen a worse word to describe yourself."

"You want me to describe you? You think you have some expressive words to describe me, buddy, you should see the list I could come up with for you!"

"Anyway, Zane actually thought you might have left _us_," he goes on, ignoring me. "You certainly could move fast enough to do so, judging by that sprint to the border you pulled off."

I cock my head to one side, a canine habit I can't seem to break no matter how hard I try. "What's that supposed to mean? I barely made it."

Hawkeye looks at me disbelievingly. "Christine, you didn't see yourself or Mokkan. You guys didn't need those six seconds. You made it in just under _three_. That's more than ten feet a second. That's. . . that's fast." He looks ready to kick himself for giving me a compliment.

I don't really know how to respond to Hawkeye actually saying something nice in just general argument, instead of like, trying to wheedle a favor out of me. Fortunately, by now we've arrived at our prisoner, and I am spared.

We have Annabeth Chase tied to a streetlamp beside Zane's tent for all to see, open to the elements. This eliminates the need for a sentry since there's always someone around to gawk at her and see Percy Jackson's girl for themselves, in her weak, defeated state. The problem was, these gawkers weren't always nice.

Personally, I didn't really care. After all, Chase was a prisoner of war, so what would you expect? But Zane and Hawkeye seemed obsessed with keeping her alive. I had no idea why, but they insisted on keeping the torture to a low degree and having her look as lively as possible. Maybe they were just trying to look professional; I dunno.

Today, Chase's visitors are a pack of telekhine pups. Now, I love all telekhines, but I have a soft spot for the pups especially. They're incredibly curious about everything, eager to learn, and very cute. They're also incredibly, unbelievably evil.

Hawkeye groans when he catches sight of the pups swarming Chase yelling at each other and thinking up creative ways to make her life miserable. "Hey," he calls, "what do you think you're doing?"

They ignore him. "Christine!" one yells, waddling over to me. "Christine, does hooking people up to jumper cables really electrocute them?"

How can you not love that? "I don't know, Ziral," I say, looking down at the pup. "Why do you want to know?"

"Cuz Predak high jacked a car last night and says that we can have it, and Echidna told us that when you electrocute humans long enough, their hair will burn. Is that true? We were just gonna throw matches at her, but then we found some jumper cables," Ziral chirps happily, while Hawkeye splutters.

"I really don't know how you electrocute people," I tell the pups. "The matches might work though, if you tie her down tight."

"I have Scotch tape!" one pup calls, and they all cheer. I join in encouragingly.

"Absolutely not!" Hawkeye says loudly to the pups. "This is--"

I whack him. "Don't squash their creativity, they're experimenting. They're learning stuff."

"Maybe so," Hawkeye argues, "but they're also going to kill her if we're not careful."

"So?" I ask, shrugging. "She'll probably die anyway, if I know Zane. Go get your car battery," I tell Ziral. He whoops and stampedes off with several other pups.

"Are you on crack?" Hawkeye demands. "Do you think we went to all that work of getting her just to let this lot dissect her or whatever? If we play our cards right, she'll become a bargaining chip. Jackson goes to extreme measures to protect the people he loves--it's his fatal flaw. Who knows what he'll do to get her back."

I scoff. "The pups aren't doing any damage; I don't think you can kill somebody with a car battery anyway--"

"They'll find a way!"

"--and besides, Annabeth doesn't mind, do you, Pretty?" I flash Chase my fangs.

She's on the ground with her back resting against the light pole, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms tightly bound behind her. Her clothes are torn, and blood trickles from the corners of her mouth. She looks up at me weakly through her lashes, blood-matted golden curls falling across her perfect face. "Bitch," she rasps hoarsely.

A telekhine pup jumps forward and claps a flipper over Chase's mouth. "No bad words," he scolds her firmly as I crack up.

Hawkeye looks sick of all of us. "You might find that description works on a number of levels."

Even in her delirious state, Chase's Athena genes shine through, and she noticed that there is meaning behind what Hawkeye said. Her eyes flick from me to him and back again. "You wish you knew," I hiss at her.

My entire life, I've gone to great lengths to make sure none of the demigods ever make the connection between the huge, red-furred beast that smashes through walls and Christine Savage. That's why I don't like to talk much in wolf form, because I have been told that I have a very distinctive voice, and some satyr or something might recognize it. I don't want them to know, when I fight, that I am capable of much more than the average wolf of traitor.

I can feel Chase and Hawkeye watching me. I flip Hawkeye the bird and sneer at Chase. "You wish you knew," I tell her again, quietly.

Ziral and his friends choose that moment to reappear, actually dragging a real car battery. "Christine!" Ziral yells. "Do you think it'll work? Io lent us a fluid lighter and matches when we told her what we were doing , just in case it didn't. Which part of her do you think will burn fastest? Will she really get electrocuted? Will it kill her?" he says excitedly.

"Throw stuff in her hair," I advise. "And don't listen to Hawkeye; he doesn't know what he's talking about. Make her scream for me."

Ziral laughs and lights a match with gusto, and the other telekhine pups begin to chant, "Burn the girl! Burn the girl! Burn the girl!" Fear flickers across Chase's face. Hawkeye cusses me out in ancient Greek and makes a lunge for Ziral.

"Have fun saving your prisoner," I call to Hawkeye as I walk off, leaving him to baby-sit for the next four hours.

_____________________________________________________________

Io and I are awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of combat in the distance.

Before I can even process what I'm hearing, I've morphed into wolf form and burst from the tent, running through the still-sleeping camp towards the fight, following the scent of blood, Io on my heels.

At the edge of our camp, all Hades has broken loose. Our menagerie of monsters is battling demigods dressed completely in black, fighting silently as shadows. They had located out camp and ambushed us, using our own tactics against us. Most of the camp hasn't even realized they were here yet, except the night guard and the residents on the very outskirts of the Rebel Camp.

I have know idea how many demigods there are, or if we're winning or losing, but I throw myself into battle without a second thought. Pouncing on a black-clad demigod and dragging him off the back of an _empousa, _I try to wrestle him to the cement. He twists out of my grasp and lunges at me with his sword, and I dodge the blade throw myself at him. We clash together in midair, hitting the pavement and rolling through the growing chaos, a whirling, spitting blur of black and red.

The demigod smashes me into an alley wall with amazing force, winding me and making me see stars for several seconds. He takes my momentary lack of awareness to draw his sword and come in for a kill, but I kick out blindly with a hind paw with all the force I can muster and catch him at the knee, snapping his left leg at an odd angle with a pleasant crack. He gasps in pain and staggers sideways, doubled over and trying not to collapse. I leap to my paws, but before I can rip him open like the worthless bug he is, an arrow sprouts from his neck, and he dies on the spot.

"It's about time you got here," I tell Damian as he appears out of the shadows at my side, even though I've only been in the battle myself for maybe thirty seconds tops.

"Are you kidding?" he asks. "I was one of the first ones here." He fits one more arrow into his bow and lets it fly. Another demigod down.

"Is Jackson here?" I say, darting forward several steps and catching a half-dead demigod as she rolls by, sent flying by a blow from one of our Hyperborean giants.

"I haven't seen him yet but I assume he tagged along, considering this is about Chase." He calmly selects another arrow as I wrap my huge jaw around the demigod's head and squeeze. "You know," he tells me, "that is really disgusting."

I pry my teeth from the crushed skull of the demigod girl and spit a piece of who knows what at him, blood dripping from my muzzle. "Watch that one coming up on your back," I warn him. Damian whirls around and lets the arrow fly at the demigod sneaking up behind him, not even bothering to stop and aim. He hits the demigod right in the stomach anyway.

On the other side of the battle, one of the demigods throws a Greek fire bomb at the head of a giant, blowing off everything from the giant's collarbone up and sprinkling the fighters with tidbits of indescribable substances. The decapitated body of the giant falls in slow motion, like a skyscraper, crushing everything and everybody too slow to get out from beneath it, both demigods and Rebels alike.

Not far from there, Jackson's pet hellhound, Mrs. O'Leary or something stupid like that, is dog fighting Mokkan, and getting her butt kicked too. Mokkan leaps on Mrs. O'Leary's back, even though she is almost twice as sturdy as him, and she crashes to the ground, scratching clumps of black hair out of Mokkan's shoulder.

Two telekhines, a hellhound, and three Rebel demigods are involved in a mini battle of their own with the demigod Ares girl who killed Kronos's drakon. She fights like a freaking maniac, with the ferocity of about twelve of her half-siblings. The Rebels are keeping her at bay, but just barely, and their battle veers towards Damian and me. I bound forward and leap over the head of a telekhine, hitting the Ares girl in the back. She hits the ground in a graceful roll despite her muscular bulk, and returns to her feet in one fluid motion, parrying my claws with her sword. A hellhound jumps her from behind, latching his teeth around her neck, but she kicks him in the gut and slams her fist into the side of his head, right on the temple, fending off a strike attack from a traitor demigod at the same time, and the hellhound lurches back, releasing her neck.

I leap forward again, but Mrs. O'Leary, with Mokkan and Katrina on her tail, hits me full on in the ribs, and the three hellhounds and I roll away. I extract myself from Katrina, who had practically run me over, and push Mrs. O'Leary off my chest, leaving them to fight it out.

The Ares girl has moved off, taking her miniature battle with her, and Damian has long since disappeared back into the shadows. More of our camp has become aware of the action, and our numbers are increasing. The Sphinx was thrashing some demigods that a Hyperborean giant had pinned down; Echidna and her Chimera were wreaking havoc on a major scale, barbecuing any demigod stupid enough to go near them; some _dracaenae_ were chasing down some satyrs that had been trying to turn Zane into a willow tree.

I still hadn't seen Jackson though, or Di Angelo or Hawkeye either, all three who were usually pretty easy to spot in battle. That worries me slightly.

Io seems to be having the same thoughts. "Christine!" she yells, ducking out of a duel with a demigod when she spots me. "Have you seen Jackson? He was here when we came--I haven't seen him since."

I shake my head. "I haven't seen him at all, I don't--" At that moment, an alley wall fifty yards behind us collapses, sending dust and rubble into the sky with a deafening cash. The scent of sea spray wafts across my nose. "Never mind! That's him."

I'm off and running towards the destruction, Io, Mrs. O'Leary, Echidna, and many others close behind. The wall is almost completely destroyed, nothing remaining except a mountain of red brick rubble. Cries of the wounded trapped beneath the bricks split the night sky.

I work the cement with my nose to the ground, scenting for Jackson, but if his smell remains I certainly don't catch it. I do recognize another scent though, and my heart leaps to my throat as I follow it to the very bottom of the pile of rock.

Digging furiously, I slowly uncover the barely conscious form of Hawkeye. "Oh gods, you moron. . ."

He's in bad shape. The entire right half of his body from his neck to his hips is completely crushed, ribs puncturing his skin and sticking out of his body grotesquely, his right arm bent at an unnatural angle in at least three places and popped out of it's socket. He's covered in slashes and scrapes, and blood drains from his mouth, leading me to suspect major internal damage.

I gently drag him away from the rubble just as the whole pile shifts, and a slab of wall bigger than me crashes down where Hawkeye had been seconds before, covering everyone in a layer of brick dust. Hawkeye is racked by a fit of raspy, painful coughing that makes his whole body convulse. Damian runs up, throwing his bow over his shoulder, and falls to his knees on the other side of Hawkeye.

"Oh man," he whispers, "the rubble couldn't have done this to him. . . He must have been the one they used to bring down the wall. Only being thrown against a hard surface could have caused an injury like this."

Hawkeye's coughing subsides, but his breathing is rapid and strained, and he's trembling. "Jackson. . ." he hisses, his voice barely recognizable, blood dripping off his lips.

I push his bloody black hair away from his eyes with my nose. "Was he here?" I ask "Which way did he go?"

"Chase," he rasps weakly, spitting blood on me.

"Jackson knows where she is?" Damian asks urgently.

"Di Angelo does." Hawkeye's breathing becomes erratic and increasingly desperate sounding as he gasps this out, and he begins to cough again. He's still loosing blood at a horrible rate, between his mouth and all his wounds.

I know all I need to know. Jackson, Nico Di Angelo, and someone strong enough to use Hawkeye to break down a wall have located Chase and gone to get her back. And unless that part of the camp is awake yet, there's no one to stop them. "I'm going in," I tell Damian quickly. "Get Hawkeye out of here, get him medical attention."

Without waiting for Damian to reply, I leap over Hawkeye and race off in the direction of the prisoner, weaving between duels and tents, taking a snap at any enemy demigod I meet on the way.

As I near the center of the camp, the crowd thins out until I am the only one around. This is rather unnerving, but I have caught the scent of Jackson and the other two. He smells like the ocean to me, appropriately, and Di Angelo carries the musty scent of the dead, both very distinguished smells to someone with heightened senses like myself. I don't recognize the third scent; it smells like a cyclops. I remember that Jackson had picked up a cyclops half-brother several years ago, Tyson, who fought occasionally at his side.

Pawsteps sounding similar to my own echo from behind me, and I turn to find Mokkan approaching. He gives me a _You didn't think you were the only one who got to see all the action, did you?_ kind of look. I flash him a genuine smile, a very rare thing for me, and continue to run, but now with Mokkan beside me.

We hear the intruders before we see them. Chase is whispering something to Jackson, sounding teary and relieved, but I can't make out the words. I doubt it's anything I really need to hear anyway. When we're about three tents away, just out of sight, the cyclops's voice sounds out. "Monsters!"

Yep, that's us.

Mokkan and I appear around the last tent faster than Jackson and the others can react. Di Angelo reels backwards as Mokkan flashes by him and rams into Tyson head-first, surprising him and knocking him backwards into a tent. I lunge for Jackson and Chase, hitting Jackson in the side and pushing Chase away from him. I knock the pretty blond girl to the pavement and push down on her neck with a paw, cutting off her air. Behind me, Mokkan, a struggling Nico Di Angelo dangling from his mouth, shoves Jackson away from me.

The cyclops comes at me from the side, slamming a fist into my ribs before I can leap out of the way. He sends me rolling off Chase, and she sucks in a loud breath. "Percy!" she screams, scrambling to her feet.

Mokkan has dropped Di Angelo on the pavement and is now launching a full-fledged attack on Jackson, forcing him away from Chase. Di Angelo, from where he was kneeled on the ground, gets a determined look I recognize too well.

The cyclops reaches forward and catches Chase around the waist as she runs forward, holding her back as Di Angelo's skeletons begin to claw their way out of the pavement.

_Oh man,_ I think. These things are impossible to fight, especially since once they have all emerged, Mokkan and I will be outnumbered almost ten to one. Fighting them is suicide. Well, more suicidal than most of our stunts, anyway.

Making one of those snap decisions I'm getting famous for, I flash forward and grab Chase's arm in my teeth. Tyson lunges for her, but he isn't nearly as fast as I am. "C'mon, Mokkan!" I call to the hellhound, who was dodging blows from Jackson. Chase screams in frustration and hatred and withers around as I drag her back through camp, Mokkan beside me, both of us grinning meanly.

Behind us, Jackson, Di Angelo, the cyclops and the skeletons are chasing after us for all they're worth, but are getting increasingly more distracted. As Mokkan and I ran through camp with Chase, we wake up all the Rebels who still don't know of the battle raging at the edge of camp. They burst out of their tents and practically step on Jackson and his crew, who they attack without hesitation, much to my delight.

Mokkan and I return to the edge of camp where the action is still the heaviest, me still dragging Chase by the arm. Zane spots us right away. "What in Hades are you doing with her?" he yells, braining a demigod with somebody's leg. "Do you _want_ them to get her back?"

I cackle. "Are you insane? If it wasn't for me, your precious princess would be halfway back to Camp Half-Blood by now."

"What are you--"

"RETREAT!" a satyr bellows somewhere to our left. The cry is swiftly taken up by the demigods and satyrs alike, and before thirty seconds had passed, half the surviving invaders had fled the battle. Behind us, Jackson and Di Angelo burst from the tents, both looking shell-shocked and desperate. Jackson sees Chase, still caught in my jaw, and lunges forward with a cry. I slam Chase into the pavement on her stomach, placing my front paws on her shoulder blades, my muzzle poised above her neck as she screams his name. Zane, Io, Mokkan, Katrina, and many others step defensively forward, teeth and weapons bared, but there is no need. Di Angelo grabs Jackson's arm, hauling him back.

"No Percy! That monster will kill her before you ever get there!" he yells. "No!"

Dead silence falls suddenly on the camp, as if someone has flipped a switch. Everyone, both the Rebels and the remaining demigods, wait uneasily for someone to move. Jackson stares at me, his piercing green eyes searing into mine. I grin and display my large yellow fangs, lowering my head closer to Chase's neck. She sobs quietly, tears leaving streaks in the grime on her face. "Go," she whispers, barely audible.

Jackson stares at her, a look of immeasurable pain on his face. I laugh evilly into the silence. _Live or love, buddy?_

"GO!" Chase shouts it this time, and is immediately taken over by unrestrained sobs.

Jackson gives me a look of utmost loathing, and slowly, quietly takes a step back. Di Angelo grabs his other arm, takes a several angry steps to the side, and shadow travels away, taking Jackson with him.

The Rebel Camp explodes into victorious cheering, and I raise my head and howl to the night skies. Beneath me, Chase struggles weakly, sobbing hysterically. "You monster!" she screams. "You--y-you absolute _evil _little-- l-little--" she trails off, crying pathetically.

I get up off her back, laughing, but keep a paw between her shoulder blades. "Ah, Romeo, Romeo, where art thou, huh Goldilocks?"

Chase's sobs reside slightly, and she looks up at me, her red eyes wide and scared. "Your voice. . ."

I raise my eyebrows, but after a moment, lower my mouth to her ear. "You wish you knew."

She gasps. "You. . . YOU!" she thrashes around on the pavement, overtaken by a fresh wave of sobbing. I replace myself on her back, pinning her down.

"Woah, pretty, getting feisty are we? Hey Zane! Animal control over here, pronto!"

Zane, who had been watching from several feet away, steps in, grasping Chase around the waist and tossing her roughly over his shoulder. She's to upset to even resist him. "I got her, Savage. Good job, by the way."

I nod and stand up, stretching. I don't have too many new wounds, thank the Titans, but several of my old ones have split open again. "Christine."

I whirl around. Damian is standing behind me, his eyes wide and worried. "Christine. . ."

I look at him. His worried expression is contagious. "What happened?"

"Christine, it's--it's Hawkeye."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! Thanks to anyone and everyone who commented on my story or added it to their favorites! I'm sorry this chap. is so short; next one will be longer.**

Ch. 7

Hawkeye was dying. Nobody would outright say "He's not going to make it" yet, but I could tell.

He was not dying quickly, nor was there any guarantee that he really would die, but he was in a downright awful state. At the moment, he was sprawled out on a sheet in Zane's tent, looking very pale, and, other than the slight and erratic rise and fall of his chest, very, very dead. The medic that has been assigned to him, an _empousa _named Tamaria, has absolutely no idea what to do.

"There is no way I know of that we can set his ribs back without damaging his lung even further," she growls in sympathetic frustration, rubbing her temples. "His right lung is deflated and twisted, right into his ribs. If we try to set them back, they'll puncture it even more, and it may become damaged beyond saving. On the other hand, if we don't set the ribs within the next twenty-four hours at the very latest, they'll become difficult to maneuver back into place, and he'll die anyway. He's lost an insane amount of blood; he needs a donation, but being the only male demon known to exist, he's a unique blood type, so that's not an option.

"His right arm has been set and put back into place, but there's so much nerve and ligament damage that he might not be able to move it. . . If that's the case, he'll do better off with no arm at all than a dead one, assuming he lives through this. His heart has suffered some damage too, it has a terribly irregular beat and isn't keeping the blood flow moving at a proper pace.

"If we set his ribs and damage the lung, that will make it bleed which will effect his heart, which will kill him. Even with his naturally enhanced ability to heal, there's still no way to fix one problem without creating another." She turns to look at Zane, Predak, Damian, and me, who are all watching her with a growing sense of despair. Don't these _empousa_ understand the word "optimistic"? Or even "slight chance"?

"I'm sorry," Tamaria says with a sigh, "we'll have to see if his condition changes within the next two to three hours. If not, we'll see what kind of magic we can scrounge up. Dr. Lanier might have some suggestions, him being a son of Apollo. Other than that, I don't know what to tell you other than his survival chances are extremely low at the moment. I'm sorry," she says again.

"Oh, well now, _that's _the most helpful thing I've heard all day," I say after a second of horrified silence, flashing Tamaria a scalding look. "Really, I thought you people were professionals. Give me a ring when something happens," I say in disgust, limping stiffly past Damian and Predak, both who look at me in silence like I've gone insane, and out of Zane's tent.

It's about five in the morning; two hours since our victory over the Camp Half-Blood strike force. Chase has been returned to her rightful spot on the ground, tied cruelly tight to a lamp post outside Zane's tent. She has fallen into a fitful sleep that borders on a miserable stupor by the time I pass by. Her head droops down onto her chest in both physical and emotional exhaustion, but her bloody, bruised body is tense. Ziral the telekhine pup and his gang are lounging nearby despite the odd hour of the morning, no doubt waiting for her to awake so they can resume throwing matches at her from the day before.

I lurch over to Ziral and slump down on the pavement beside him with a tired sigh. He looks up at me sleepily and rests his chin affectionately on my leg. "You look awful, Christine," he comments.

I smile despite my fatigue. "Yeah, well, war can do that to you," I tell him. "And I'm alive, which is more than can be said for some people. I could look worse."

Ziral knows what I'm thinking about. "Will Hawkeye be okay?" he asks quietly.

"Nobody knows, baby," I reply just as softly. "He's ripped up pretty good. The medics don't think he'll live. That much I know."

"Do _you_ think he'll live?"

I take a while to reply, stroking Ziral on the back. "Well, I've known Hawkeye for a long time, considering the lifestyle I choose to live, where people have a tendency to leave my life just as fast as they arrive in it. Despite how much I hate him, I'll be the first to admit that he's quite the survivor."

"That's not answering my question."

"Yes, Ziral, I think he'll live. How's that?"

"Much better," the pup says contentedly, closing his eyes. "I hope he doesn't die. Then we'll have nobody to yell at us when we torture prisoners or break into the food stores or copy Zane all day. Making trouble is no fun if there's no risk."

I laugh quietly. "That's true, too."

Ziral takes a deep breath, and within several seconds, begins to snore softly. That's a telekhine for you.

I hear a slight movement from behind me. Without looking up, I say, "You know Predak, when you said that you were good at eavesdropping at powerful people, I didn't think that I would ever qualify. I'm still deciding weather to be flattered or kick your butt."

Predak comes and sits on the concrete on the other side of the slumbering Ziral and gives me a crooked smile. "Sorry. It's just that the last time I heard you talk to someone for so long without insulting them, we were working incognito three years ago, trying to get information out of little old ladies. I couldn't resist."

That's a telekhine for you, too. "Jerk."

"Do you really think Hawkeye will make it?" Damian asks, standing above us.

I shrug. "You two have known him longer than I have. I should be asking you that question. Personally, I lied to Ziral. I don't think he'll make it. Nobody can survive wounds like those."

Predak looks at me, aghast, and Damian stiffens.

"But you know," I continue, "Hawkeye is famous for disappointing me. He does it on a daily basis. So if he has any luck at all, this might not be so different."

Damian smiles and sits down beside me, looking caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Always his fault, huh?"

"Yep," I say. "When in doubt, always blame the guy in charge."

"That would be Zane."

"Fine then, when in doubt, always blame the guy in charge of _you_. Zane does _not _hold any sway over me. Hawkeye on the other hand, is a master at manipulation."

"You seem to give in pretty easily," Predak remarks.

"It may seem like that, yeah" I say calmly, laying back on the concrete and closing my eyes. Ziral snuffles in his sleep and curls up closer to my leg. I can feel Damian and Predak on either side of me, still worried about Hawkeye, but more relaxed than they have been in days. We stay just like that for a long, long time.

_____________________________________________________________

"Okay, people, we have a problem," Zane yells at the assembly. It's been five days after the battle. Zane is pacing back and forth on the platform at the center of camp, telling us, for about the third time in the last fifteen seconds, that we have a problem.

"When don't we have a problem?" I ask Io, who's standing beside me at the back of the crowd, with Predak. She smiles but doesn't reply.

"We have a problem!" Zane says again, and an collective sigh goes up from the assembly. "Camp Half-Blood has changed it's strategy for getting newly discovered demigods into the camp!"

Alright, that _was _a problem.

"Now, instead of bringing them across the border on foot, they have set up a number of portals across the city that act as shortcuts and ways to avoid us, the demigods appearing directly into the camp from whichever portal they pass through. We have located three of these portals since the discovery of the change last night, but assume that there are at least five others, if not more. In the next several weeks, we will be organizing searches to find these other portals, while doing out best to guard the ones that have already been discovered.

"In order to do this, groups of you will be stationed at every portal. You will camp there for several weeks and put a stop to anyone passing in or out of the portal, until we change the guard, when you will return here. The first groups for the three known portals have been chosen, and more groups will be formed upon the discovery of the others.

"As for right now, we have a pair of demigods coming into Portal Two in an estimated half and hour, and we need to get agents out there, so I will take questions later. If I call your name, come to the front here to receive instructions and the location of your portal."

Zane made this whole speech so fast, it was almost hard to understand. He was obviously anxious to get Rebels out into the city to stop this development as soon as possible. I certainly didn't blame him; no one had been expecting something like this.

He began to read off names. "Assigned to Portal One, located on the East side of Central Park, is Io Grates, Damian Vasquez, Mokkan the hellhound, Estella Holt, and Predak the telekhine. Come to the front, please," he yelled quickly.

"Oooh, sorry Christine," Predak whispers sympathetically to me as Io pats my shoulder. I am totally not pleased with the groupings so far as Io and Predak pick their way swiftly to the front of the crowd and gather in front of Zane with Damian, Mokkan (both shoot me a sympathetic glance), and Estella Holt, an _empousa_ we know from Kronos's army.

Zane continues shouting off names at a barely understandable speed. "To Portal Two, located on Pier 81 near the Lincoln Tunnel, we have Katrina the hellhound, Kodiak Trenton, Fiona Alexander, Xelta the _dracaenae_, and Christine Savage." I groan inwardly. I don't know any of those people besides Katrina.

Pushing my way forcibly through the crowd, I go stand beside Katrina, who is the only one of my bunch so far to reach the platform. She gives an excited _Woof!_ and wags her tail upon my approach, and I smile at her, but with little enthusiasm, feeling the eyes of Predak and the others on my back. She notices and gives me a big doggy grin, like, _Oh, whatever! At least we get to see some action, right?_ _They'll probably just be sitting there forever._

"You got that right," I say, rubbing her shoulder. A boy about my age, maybe a bit younger, comes and stands a few feet away from Katrina. I recognize him from our strike mission on Camp Half-Blood, when we had torched the forest. He has a huge pair of jet black bat wings sprouting from his back, between his shoulder blades. I had never bothered to ask who had died that night, but this mutant, Kodiak Trenton I assume, wasn't one of them. He glances sideways at Katrina and me a little hesitantly before nodding a grudging greeting.

We return the nod as a _dracaenae _slithers up, keeping her distance from everyone. She gives all three of us a less than friendly stare before pointedly turning her back. Katrina and I exchange a look, but are quickly distracted by the arrival of our last guard member, not quite believing our bad luck.

The girl that stalks up to me can't be any older than ten or any higher than four feet, with chocolate colored skin and a bush of black hair, literally. One brown eye seems to be focused, but the other rolls around in her head seemingly of it's own account, and every stained tooth in her mouth has been filed to a jagged point. She has a vacant expression. I wonder briefly if she is a cannibal.

Kodiak Trenton and Katrina look downright scared of her, and even Xelta the _dracaenae_ looks startled at the prospect of spending any length of time with Fiona Alexander. Across from me, Damian, Io, Mokkan, and Predak are fighting down hysterics, but I can't tell if it's from the disgusted look on my face or my obscene luck.

Without warning, Fiona Alexander makes an extremely odd face, her eyes crossing and her jaw dropping open to display filed teeth, tongue lolling out of her mouth, and she makes a strangled sound, like she's trying to sing and cough up a hairball at the same time. Katrina yelps like a puppy and scurries to hide behind Kodiak, who's leaped back about ten feet. Xelta tenses, as if expecting this odd child to attack her at any moment.

As quickly as the expression came to her face, it disappears, and Fiona smiles charmingly at me. Then her eye begins to roll again, and she resumes a vacant look without a word. I simply stare at her.

By now, Damian and Predak are almost howling with laughter, and the Rebels in the crowd are giving me sympathetic looks, as if I have unknowingly signed up for a field trip to Hades. Great.

So, Kodiak is a troubled, antisocial teenager, Xelta is having no part in the teamwork whatsoever, and Fiona is a raving mad lunatic. None of us know each other very well, if at all, and Fiona is scaring the wits out of everyone else ten seconds into the mission. Katrina is peering around Kodiak's wing at Fiona with a look of absolute _Who in HADES is that monster?!_, and looking very much unlike she'll be functioning well in a fight. Zane seems to be avoiding my accusing glances.

Well, this should be fun.


	8. Chapter 8

**So, here's chapter 8! I struggled through writer's block this whole chapter, which is why it took so long. But I'm back in the game now, so the next ones should come pretty soon! I'm thinking up shockingly, amazingly evil things to do to Annabeth so I can wreak havoc on the Percabeth! Hahahahaha! Probabaly not the next chapter, a couple more. Anyway, if you like, review _please. _I haven't gotten a review in ages! Even if you've already reviewed my previous chapters, let me know you're still following! Disclaimer: Don't own PJO. Just like to be evil to them.**

Ch. 8

If I was a polite person, I would say that I was not happy with Zane for grouping me with the people he did. But I am not a polite person.

So I can say that Zane was a total asshole for dooming me to the next two weeks trying not to get killed by my psycho underdog companions, all of whom were either antisocial or officially dubbed obsessed. And by the time Zane showed us the portal that we would be guarding, I was still too busy wondering what I had done to deserve this to be furious.

"This," Zane says, motioning to a bare brick wall across from Pier 81, hidden in a grungy alleyway, "is your portal."

"And how's that supposed to work?" I ask harshly before anyone else can reply, putting my hands on my hips. Zane glances at me, then kneels down and pries a loose pebble of concrete from the sidewalk. He tosses it at the wall. Instead of bouncing off the brick, as I expect, the bit of concrete vanishes into the wall with a soft hiss, and a_ plunk_ as it hits the ground on the other side of the portal, in Camp Half-Blood.

"Like that," Zane says calmly, turning to look at us. "Now, the next demigod is due in about twenty minutes up from the financial district, by taxicab, thanks to a minor setback. Your job for the next two weeks, considering you are not wounded and forced to pull out of action, is to make sure that _no demigods get through this portal_. Where you camp is entirely up to you, as is providing necessities such as food and shelter. Every other day, I'll send out messengers to you to relay information and keep updated with your accomplishments. Any questions?"

"Yes." I step forward. "You know my question."

Zane regards me for several seconds as I stare accusingly at him. "You know, Christine, I've learned from experience that sometimes success comes in the most unusual forms. Give it a chance, and I think you might be surprised."

Well, that cleared things up.

"Good luck," Zane says to us, stepping around me. "You'll need it." With that, he jogs out of the alleyway and disappears into thin air, leaving me with four weirdoes, a bare brick wall, and a desire for him to come back so I can kill him.

After several long seconds of silence, while we all stand around and try not to meet each other's gaze, I sigh. "Alright, people, let's get this show on the road. I say we need to intercept that cab. The longer they've been running, the less of a fight they'll put up when we catch them."

Xelta the _dracaenae_ gives me a pitiful look. "There are hundreds of taxicabs in this area. We'll never be able to single out one of them, let alone the right one," she says commandingly. "I say we let them come to us. If we ambush them right here, they'll never get away."

See, this is why _dracaenae_ are never put in charge of an operation. I bare my teeth at Xelta. "If we let that cab pull right up here, the satyr guide will smell us. You have to be close to attempt an ambush, and if we're anywhere within a hundred feet of this portal, that satyr will know we're here. Also, if we camp out right here, on the portal, the demigods will know we've found it, and might stop trying to get people through. If we get them on the run from a distance, they'll get worn out faster and nobody will know we've located the portal." I glare at my companions. "Even if we do miss a few because we rat them out from a ways away, that's better than having them realize that this portal is guarded. Got it?"

Xelta glares at me, and I half expect her to attack. But then she sees the reason in my idea, and backs down.

"That's what I thought," I say. "Now, we need a plan. I think we need at least two people to stay on the street corner, in case they do manage to get this far after we've gotten them out of the cab. The other three can find the cab and get them on the run."

"Yes, but how do you intend to _find_ this cab?" Xelta asks scathingly, still reluctant to let me win the argument.

"Well, since you're so clever, why don't you figure it out?" I counter.

Kodiak Trenton, who had been shifting his weight from foot to foot the whole time, speaks up. "I could find it," he says quietly, not meeting our eyes.

We all turn to stare at him, with the exception of Fiona Alexander, who is studying the sky, her head tilted back and mouth hanging wide open. She apparently has no idea what is going on.

"_You_ could find it, Trenton?" Xelta asks incredulously. "I highly doubt that."

"Yes I could," Kodiak insists. "I have vision about twenty times better than the average human. If I could find a place where I could see every cab that went by, I know I could find them." He ruffles his bat wings absent mindedly, still not meeting anyone's gaze.

I study him. "Are you sure?" Xelta makes an outraged noise deep in her throat.

He glances briefly up at me before looking down at the ground again. "Yeah. I'm sure."

I look at Katrina, who nods. "Alright then, troops, lets move out. Kodiak and Katrina, you two come with me. We'll find their cab from the rooftops. Xelta and. . ." I look at Fiona Alexander. She's still fascinated with the clouds, which, I notice, are threatening to rain on us soon.

"Fiona Alexander!" I bark loudly, trying to see if she can understand me. She doesn't respond. I frown and try again, thinking that maybe she'll respond to a direct order. "Fiona Alexander! Would you please go post yourself on the 11th Avenue street corner, that way?" I point in the direction I want her to go. To my pleasure she jumps, like I've given her an electrical shock, and stares at me with one eye while the other one rolls back in her head.

I continue to give her orders, hoping she can process all of this information. "Once you are on your corner, will you please keep a watch out for the demigod and satyr we are supposed to be chasing? If they go by you, attack them. Do you understand?"

Fiona stares at me for several seconds, then breaks out into a huge Cheshire cat grin, filed teeth and all. Her eyes cross. She skips erratically by me (I jump back several feet), out of the alley, and off towards the end of the street, humming to herself and staggering around, but still maintaining a relatively straight line. I quietly hope that the cops don't try to pick her up for way underage drug use.

"Well, alright," I say, regaining my composure. "You," I tell Xelta, "can keep watch opposite Fiona, on the other corner. That way, either way they come around from, somebody will catch them. Right?"

Xelta splutters furiously. "You actually think that mentally disturbed little creature will do anything useful? And who gave you the authority to order me around? If anyone should be giving orders, it should--"

"It should be who? You? Who gave _you_ the authority to order _me_ around, just to ask? It certainly isn't my fault you got stuck in this godsforsaken alley. If you have a problem with the rest of us, you can certainly leave. We'll be better off one person less than with a complainer on out backs the whole time." I've morphed into wolf form by now, and am staring down Xelta, my nose mere inches from hers.

She holds my gaze for several seconds, but finally steps away. Without a word, but absolutely vibrating with rage, she slithers around me and down the street to assume her guard position.

"Glad we all agree on that," I call after her, shaking my head. She slithers away faster.

"Let's go," I tell Kodiak and Katrina, who had been watching with their eyebrows raised. Standing on a large dumpster for extra height, I am able to leap up onto the roof of the nearest building, and Katrina follows in the same way. Kodiak, however, merely spreads his huge bat wings (he has a wingspan of about fifteen feet) and flaps gracefully up to us. Leaping swiftly from rooftop to rooftop in a way I am very familiar with from my days on the streets, we are able to travel quickly to a spot near Horatio St. where we can see every car that approaches from the financial district. Katrina and I skid to a halt several feet from the edge of the roof, scattering pigeons, panting with exertion.

Kodiak soars down silently from the sky, dark with the coming rain, and lands on the very brink of the rooftop, balancing easily. He kneels down and grips the roof's slight overhang, unfurling his wings just a bit, possibly for balance against the slight breeze. He leans forward so that he is practically hanging off the roof, kept in place only by his feet, braced on the roof's edge, and his grip on the overhang. Then he freezes on the spot, nothing moving except his eyes, which roam the cars below him.

I frown at him, wondering what the excuse for this odd position is when he could easily see just as well standing up, and then I realize: disguise. Under the protection of the Mist, he must appear to be a decorative gargoyle. They're often carved hunched over the edge of the roof they're placed on, wings slightly unfurled.

We still have about fifteen minutes until the estimated arrival of the demigod, so Katrina sighs heavily and lays down beside Kodiak, her head dangling off the edge of the roof, looking bored. I sit beside her, wrapping my tail feline-style around my paws, waiting for Kodiak to signal an enemy spotting. A crack of thunder echoes from above us after ten minutes or so, and it begins to sprinkle, but promises to pour before too long. The sky darkens ominously, giving the city a shadowy, otherworldly look.

Kodiak doesn't acknowledge the rain or the lightning, when it crackles brightly overhead, but stays completely still, never so much as the slightest twitch. Katrina was in the midst of a huge yawn when he straightens up suddenly. "That one," he says quietly, barely audible over a clap of thunder, pointing to a cab right in the middle of the crowded highway.

Katrina and I spring up, peering anxiously through the rain. I can't see well enough to tell who is in the back of the cab, but it certainly appears to be two people. Now the problem was getting them out of the cab and onto the street.

As if reading my thoughts, Kodiak looks sideways at me. "I got this one?" he asks.

"Go right ahead," I tell him. "Where to you want us?"

He shrugs. "I don't know which way they'll run. Up to you."

"Gotchya. Katrina, you get this side of the road, I'll get the other."

An abnormally loud crash of thunder sounds, and the sky opens up on us. Ignoring the torrential downpour as much as possible, Katrina and I jump from the rooftop and land heavily on the cement. I throw myself recklessly into the road, weaving amid the traffic to the opposite sidewalk, while Katrina poises herself beneath Kodiak.

When we're ready, Kodiak leaps into the air, spreading his wings and soaring high up into the sky, until he is little more than an speck in the drenching rain. I tilt my head back, blinking water out of my eyes as I try to follow his progress. I glance at Katrina, and she and I exchange an anxious look. The cab Kodiak had pointed out is almost upon us. For what seems like forever, as the cab approaches, Kodiak is nowhere to be seen.

And then, when the cab is directly between Katrina and I, Kodiak dive-bombs it, a black streak whistling down through the rain, faster than thought. Instead of pulling up at the last minute, he crashes head-on into the hood of the cab. The entire front half of the car collapses as if someone had dropped another car on it from sixty feet high, sending glass and bits of metal flying everywhere across the wet highway. The cars around the destroyed taxicab screech to a halt, or swerve off in different directions, and I have to leap out of the way to avoid getting hit by a station wagon even though I'm on the sidewalk.

I begin to wonder if Kodiak is still alright after that collision, but am distracted by the back door of the cab bursting open and a satyr half falling, half jumping out. He has curly blond hair that is quickly slicked back by the downpour and his fake legs are on, and he's got a panicked look on his face. He sticks his head back into the crushed cab and grabs the hand of a very pretty little girl with bright red hair and freckles, ten, maybe eleven years old. Even when she's terrified, she has a permanently mischievous look about her, with quick green eyes and "trouble" all but written across her forehead. I immediately suspect her to be a daughter of Hermes.

Even though both are bruised and bleeding from Kodiak's attack, the satyr hauls the girl away from the cab and to the sidewalk opposite me. They both begin to run for all they're worth in the direction of Pier 81. Katrina, seemingly a large, howling shadow on the wall, takes off after them.

Keeping on my side of the road, I run opposite them until they take an unexpected detour down another street, and I am forced to bound across the highway to stay in pursuit. I come up beside Katrina and the two of us run side by side, dodging vehicles and pedestrians with umbrellas, trash cans and mailboxes as we push through the ever-swelling rivers of water that run down to the rain gutters. The demigod and satyr are barely visible, black splotches against the sheeting rain that pounds down onto our backs with painful force. A flash of lightning crackles above us, very close, and I get the feeling Zeus is sticking his nose in other peoples' business again.

We've reached 9th Avenue now and are splashing down the street, closing in on our victims. The little girl stumbles, her red hair plastered to her face, and hits the sidewalk on her knees with a sharp cry. The noise of the city bustle and the pounding rain are flooding my ears, making me almost the equivalent of deaf, but I still hear the satyr yell her name as he stumbles to a halt, lunging back for her outstretched hand: "Alice!"

I leap forward, still fifteen feet away from where Alice is scrambling back through the puddles, struggling to regain balance. She shrieks as I pounce on her back, body-slamming her petite frame into the drenched sidewalk. Katrina flashes by me and football tackles the satyr against a store window before he can do much more than raise his reed pipes to his lips.

Unfortunately, that's more than enough. He plays only several short notes seemingly at random, not even a riff. Katrina knocks the pipes from his hands, but it's too late. I bring my fangs down to Alice's neck as she twitches around beneath me, sobbing, when something thin and strong wraps around my neck, instantly cutting off all my air. The rough brown vine loops itself around my neck again, like a noose, and begins to drag me off the demigod. I fight it, twisting and straining against the thing like a chocker collar (and I've had some not-so-fun experience with those), but the vine only tightens. It slides across my chest, wrapping around my legs and hips, crushing me.

The demigod leaps to her feet, bloody and scared, and stands in the middle of the street, not knowing where to go. Katrina sees me fighting for breath, being dragged up against the brick wall that the vines are growing from, and loosens her hold on the satyr. He falls from her grasp and grabs Alice's hand, and the two of them disappear into an alleyway.

I make a strangles hissing noise at Katrina, all I can manage, and she whines. She steps forward to help me combat the vines, but I swipe the only paw that isn't being tied to the wall at her, fending her off. It she tries to help me, the demigod will get away. I choke at her again and wave my claws in the direction the demigod girl took. Katrina backs off several feet, reluctant to leave me. I hiss at her again, viciously, with my eyes no doubt popping and droplets of blood spraying from my mouth, and she gets the message.

She turns and bounds off into the rain after the demigod. As she goes, the vine tightens around my chest and there is a loud _SNAP! _as the first of my ribs crack under the pressure, and I grunt. Katrina flinches at the sound, but doesn't look back. I watch her until she disappears around a corner and is lost from sight, leaving me to my fate.

The vines have covered almost every inch of my body, and are now winding up my neck towards my face as they bundle my up against the brick wall. I can't breathe, can't move, can't think as they slide across my slack jaw, wet with the severe rain. My vision fuzzes out and I feel--but don't process--that the ends of the vines are creeping into my mouth, heading down my throat and pricking the corners of my eyes. Pain explodes in my tight chest as another rib threatens to break, but I'm too far gone to process it.

I'm too far gone to notice when a large figure with giant black bat wings, slick with raindrops, swoops gracefully down to land beside me.

_____________________________________________________________

"You don't like plants much, do you?"

I open my eyes, but nothing comes into focus. "Wha' in Hades. . .?"

"Never mind. You're not dead, though, before you ask."

"No duh," I say, hauling myself painfully to my paws and blinking vigorously, although secretly I'm relieved. "How long was I out?"

Kodiak, looking wet but healthy despite his crash with a taxicab, shrugs. "I dunno. No more than maybe forty seconds. You've apparently built up a resistance to getting knocked out."

"Yeah, well, that's a good thing," I say, trying to focus on him. "Did Katrina catch Alice?"

"Who?"

"The demigod."

"Oh. I don't know that either, I just escaped a militia of police officers. They're convinced that this rain knocked a gargoyle off the roof of a nearby building and squashed an empty cab car. You owe me big time for that, by the way." He puts his hands in his pockets. "But I heard some commotion up on 24th street. We're on 17th right now."

"You can hear from that far away, in this weather?" I ask. I'm beginning to see again, and I notice that Kodiak has thoughtfully put my rib back in place.

"Well, yeah. Even Zeus can't stop that. He's almost got me with those lightning bolts a couple times though. You ready to go?"

I stand up and shake. It hurts, but clears my mind. "Yeah. If they're already up by 24th street though, we'll never get there in time."

"Use the rooftops," Kodiak suggests. "You can move faster up there that you can on the ground, I've noticed. It's a bit more dangerous, since Zeus is up there somewhere too, but we should be fine."

I nod and wordlessly make a start for the nearest dumpster. Kodiak leaps into the air and spreads his wings, flapping strongly upward to the roof of the nearest building, where he waits for me to catch up.

Kodiak was right when he said that traveling on the rooftops would be faster, but "dangerous" was a bit of an understatement. I think that "suicidal" is probably a better description, taking into consideration how many times I almost slipped in a puddle and fell off a roof, got fried by a bolt of lightning, drowned in rainwater, or got caught by a gust of wind mid-jump and almost missed the next roof. Kodiak had just as little luck as I did, often being caught by the same gusts that threw me off course, except they were even worse for him because of his wings. All said and done, by the time we caught up with Katrina and the demigod on 35th Street twenty minutes later, we had each almost died probably thirty, maybe forty times each.

Which is kind of tame for us, but, you know, it made things fun.

I screech to a halt overlooking Katrina, who is panting and soaked to the bone with rain and sweat, as she disappears around a corner and vanishes from sight once again. I notice, in the fleeting second I see her, that she has developed a limp, which is probably the only reason she hasn't caught up with Alice and the satyr yet. I wonder how far behind she is.

"Kodiak!" I yell over the pounding of the rain. He falls/plummets down beside me heavily, lacking his usual grace because of his drenched wings. "I'll follow on foot from here," I call over a clap of thunder, shaking water from my eyes, "and you go on ahead, maybe drop down in front of them if you can!"

He regains his balance, nods once, and leaps off the roof back into the air, if a little lopsidedly. I follow, falling down instead of up. I hit the cement outside a store display window and splash off after Katrina, ignoring the jarring of my broken rib.

I follow them down 37th Street and onto 11th Ave. We're getting close to the portal back to Camp Half-Blood, and I'm beginning to get nervous. What if Fiona's not on guard? Fiona being who she was, it wouldn't surprise me if she had abandoned that job half an hour ago and moved on to catching raindrops on her tongue or whatever. Hopefully Kodiak, at least, will be around to help if they make it that far.

I run up behind Katrina, drawing even with her. Alice and the satyr are about fifteen feet ahead of us, both bearing Katrina's scratches and claw marks, signifying many close calls. Katrina barks happily as I run beside her, and pokes me in the side with her nose, like, _Oh my gods, you actually _lived_? I don't believe it!_

I'm panting too hard to reply (and choking on inhaled raindrops), but she doesn't seem to notice. We're only one street corner from the portal now, and Kodiak hasn't shown up yet, making me anxious. I begin to push myself harder, trying to close in on our prey.

We round a corner, and Pier 81 comes into view. "Shit," I mutter under my breath. Where is Fiona? She was supposed to be--

Alice the demigod is knocked sideways so fast I can't even process it. One moment she's running for the portal, the next, she's lying spread-eagled in a puddle, being kicked in the ribs over and over again by a screeching little girl with chocolate skin and a bush of black hair. The satyr turns back to help her, but Kodiak falls heavily from the sky, spreading his wings wide and cutting the satyr off. Xelta plunks herself down in front of the portal. Her sword--which more resembles a sharpened metal rafter on a leather handle--is drawn.

Without stopping, I leap over Kodiak's outstretched wing, and land in front of the satyr. Before he can react, I lunge forward and sink my teeth into his neck, ripping him open with my back claws.

Warm blood pours from his carcass and mingles with the water, running down to the rain gutter.

Behind me, Kodiak shakes droplets of water off his bat wings and folds them against his back before helping Katrina pry Fiona off the body of the demigod, Alice. The little girl is wrapped possessively around the carcass, making small growling noises deep in her throat, both eyes rolling at double speed.

Xelta cocks an eyebrow. "Let that little beast have the body," she says roughly. "If we're lucky, there won't be enough left of it for the demigods to find."

"So she _is_ a cannibal," I confirm, as Katrina yelps and reels back in disgust. "I wondered."

"Of sorts," Xelta says, turning her back on me.

I smile slightly at Kodiak. "Thanks for saving me from those gods dammed weeds. You're right--I really do hate plants."

He shrugs modestly and returns the smile. He's cute when he smiles, I decide, even if he does have demonic bat wings. "No problem. You know, we're not a total disaster when it comes to working together."

Katrina barks assent, and Xelta snorts. Fiona makes horrifying, undescribable crunching noises. I grin. Kodiak was right. We're not too bad. Not to bad at all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, everybody! So, this is Chapter 9, in all it's glory. Hope you like it! School starts tomorrow(Monday), and I'm really excited, so my next chap. might be a few days; I don't really know. Also, I've updated on my profile, so if you haven't found that yet, please to check it out! As usual, if you like my stories, pleeeeaaaase tell me! Reviews prompt me to work harder! So anyway, on with the show!**

Ch. 9

Ol' Zeus must not have liked that Alice the demigod didn't make it to Camp Half-Blood, because it rained for almost a week straight. For the next six days, violent thunderstorms filled in the gaps between dark, heavy showers and dreary drizzling.

Despite the questionable weather though, I'll be the first to admit that my days on portal duty were among the most pleasant I've ever wasted on a mission. My companions, although still total psychos, turned out to be quite good at passing the time without making me bored out of my mind.

Now, I know what you're thinking: I'm a monster. I've shamelessly murdered countless innocent demigods in cold blood. I don't deserve to have fun while stuck in a tent on a rooftop in the middle of a week-long rainstorm with a cannibal, a very disagreeable snake woman, a two-ton dog, and a mutant bat kid.

Yeah, well, too bad.

Kodiak and I are both professional pickpockets and shoplifters, so it didn't take us long to acquire a brand new heavy duty weather-resistant tent after our little episode with Alice. We decided to set up camp on a rooftop several buildings away from the alley that the portal was in. That way, we were close enough to get to the scene quick but also far enough away that we couldn't be seen or smelled, especially in this rain. We took shifts being on guard; Someone always watching the portal, and someone else standing watch outside the tent while the other three went to get supplies or hide from the rain.

We had some pretty good action too. We had eight different demigods during those first six days, each with a satyr guide, that fell into our web. Most of them were easy pickings, but we had some fun ones too. For instance, the first kid we got had learned to carry a small pistol around with him every time he left the house. He outlasted his satyr, but then lost his head at all the blood and let his guard down. We gave him to Fiona.

Another kid we got closely resembled my idea of a Bigfoot, standing probably six and a half feet tall and weighing close to four hundred pounds. I mean this kid was like Godzilla in mini, and was probably King of the high school wrestling squad or whatever it's called. He was older (and uglier) than most of the new godlings you see these days, around sixteen years old, and looked like he could crack cement with his forehead. We probably did Camp Half-Blood a favor by getting rid of that one.

There was also a Japanese American girl who must have been taking karate lessons for at least half her life. She reminded me a bit of a spastic fox, with her narrow face and beady eyes, her hair mostly black except for the ends, which she had dyed a flashy red. This girl also managed to outlive her satyr, and almost got to the portal too. She gave me a bruise about the size of a dinner plate on my stomach, and knocked Katrina out cold for almost twelve hours.

As Zane had promised, a messenger from the Rebel Camp--called a runner--would show up every other day or so in the form of a traitor demigod or mutant. Usually they had nothing important to say to us, and were only interested in who we had killed lately. One runner though, Charlie, always stopped to chat whenever he was passing by.

Charlie X was a mutant of some sort, and resembled something similar to what you would get if you crossed a cat and an underfed gorilla, shaved it, and taught it how to talk. He had a feline face and head, and a large but skinny monkey-like body. His arms were longer than his legs, and his front paws/hands had long spidery fingers tipped with wicked inch-long claws. His back paws were like those of a cat, as was his tail other than the fact that it was about twice the length of his body. He was black from ears to tail tip, with huge, bulging gold eyes with no pupils, that really popped against his dark face. He moved like a monkey, using his arms, legs, and tail, and had amazing agility. He stood about three feet at the shoulder, but looked shrunken, like somebody who had lost a lot of weight really fast. Creepy, yes, but he was really pretty cool.

On the last day of the rain, out sixth day on the job, Charlie is Zane's runner. "Heads!" is all Xelta has time to call from her post outside the tent before he bursts in, sopping wet and grinning from ear to ear.

"Mornin' you lazy bums," he chirps at us in his raspy, hissing voice. "Sittin' 'round playin' cards on a beauty of a day like this?"

Kodiak and I had been teaching Fiona how to cheat at double solitaire. Or trying to anyway. She can't count.

I snort. "Are you kidding? It's pouring outside again. What do _you_ do outside in the rain all day?"

Charlie grins and sits down beside me, dripping all over our card game. "Ah, there's all kinds 'o stuff to be doin' on a day like this, Chrissy," he says, plucking an ace of hearts out of my hand and popping it in his mouth, chewing it up.

"Like what? And don't eat our cards. I had somewhere to put that one, too."

Charlie laughs. "When it rains this hard, I don't 'ave to worry 'bout people seein' me, Chrissy. Ya can get away with murder in this 'ere weather. Jus' figuratively speakin' o' course. I can be king o' Manhattan if nobody is out there to call the cops on all that illegal animal testin' when they sees me. If high and mighty Zeus really wanted to make us un'appy, he'd give us gud weather." He gives my a toothy grin. "See wha' I mean?"

I shrug. "I guess. Still don't get why you'd want to get all wet unless you had to, though. Fiona, stop _eating_ our cards!" I snatch away a four of clubs that she had been nibbling on after seeing Charlie eat my card.

Charlie smiles. "Yer such a girlie, Chrissy, for bein' a professional skull crusher. Ah well. Anyways, I got better things to tell ya. Ya know yer friends, the ol' ones from my Lord Kronos's army, an' yer roommate? Io Grates, Damian Vasquez, and yer telekhine?"

"Predak? Yeah, they're out by Central Park on Portal One with Mokkan and Estella. What about them?"

"Well, they ain't out there no mores, Chrissy. Got pulled out before they's shift was over."

"_What?_ Why? Are they hurt?" I splutter, whirling to look at Charlie.

He holds up his hands and explains. "They'll live the medics say, jus' 'ad to be pulled out. Took a beatin' from Nico Di Angelo 'imself, I hear."

"What was Di Angelo doing bringing demigods into camp?" Kodiak asks as he tries to tug a card from Fiona's teeth, speaking for the first time.

"I'm explainin' to ya," Charlie says patiently. "Now, ya see, a couple days ago, another kid o' Hades was found, a lil' girl they call Gracie Thorson, no ol'er than eight. She was scheduled to get into Camp Half-Blood yesterday, but yer friends held 'er up. O' course, Di Angelo knew exactly what was 'appenin' and showed up on the scene 'fore anyone could stop him. An' 'course, nobody sane can fight off half an army o' skeletons. The Hades girl and 'er satyr got away with Di Angelo, and yer friends were left to battle it out with them skeletons. They called for backup in time, luckl'y, and we managed to get there 'fore the skeletons overwhelmed 'em. All five of 'em took a major beatin', but they'll live Chrissy. Zane brought 'em back to the Rebel Camp and sent out a replacement crew to Portal One."

"Oh, thank the Titans," I breathe, slumping back.

Charlie grins at my obvious relief. "They's gonna be gud as new in a week 'er two, Chrissy. Yer 'Awkeye is doin' well too. Bin up 'an walkin' 'round camp the last couple o' days."

I raise my eyebrows. "Hawkeye? So he'll be around for a while longer too, huh?"

Charlie nods. "Yep. They got 'is ribs back in and 'is lung workin' gud, and he's got s'more blood in 'im now. He should be fine in a while, considerin' he don't rip 'imself up again."

"Huh," I say. "I don't think I'd mind if that moron stayed out of the way for a couple more weeks, actually. I kind of enjoy being away from him."

Kodiak looks at me. "You wouldn't miss him if he died?"

"Of course I would, but that doesn't mean I like him. Who would I annoy on all those days when there's nothing to do? I've got nobody else to yell at when I get bored."

Charlie shakes his head, his tail swishing from side to side. "Yer weird, Chrissy."

I grin. "You're one to talk."

We chat for a while more, telling Charlie about our most recent kill so he can pass it on to Zane, and listening to his gossip as he munches on our playing cards like a satyr. He tells us that three more portals have been found around New York City, two in the suburbs and one up in the Bronx. Guards had been distributed to those portals too, but of all six groups, we were the only one that still had all five original members. We were also the only group that had yet to miss a demigod.

"Zane's delighted with you alls," Charlie tells us. "He don't outright say it, but whenever Portal Two comes up in conversation, ya can always tell. 'E gets all 'appy and smug lookin'."

"He always looks smug," Kodiak points out.

"Well, more smug than usual," Charlie corrects himself. "An' 'e never looks both 'appy 'an smug at the same time, ya know."

I snort in disbelief, but secretly I'm pleased. Compliments are hard to come by with our type, and when you get them, you know you've got some supporters in the ranks. That means authority, and authority means respect and a fear factor, both of which are even more rare than compliments.

Xelta sticks her head through the tent flap, looking very mad and very wet. "Guard change," she says loudly over the pounding of the rain. "I've been out here for three hours!"

"Alright. . ." I sigh. "Who's turn is it to guard the portal?"

"Yours," Kodiak says, before I can get any ideas. "Fiona's up for tent duty. And you know, I might go raid the grocery store down the street. We're getting kind of low on supplies, apparently, if we're eating playing cards." He gives Fiona a look, and she gives him a Cheshire cat smile and makes an odd humming sound, shreds of playing cards caught between her filed teeth. But I get the feeling he just doesn't want to be stuck in a tent with Xelta while she's in her present mood.

Charlie has the same idea. "Ah, yer right. I gots myself some business to attend to also," he says. "Sorry I missed Katrina, though. Tell 'er I say 'ello, Chrissy."

Xelta pushes her way into the tent, shaking like a dog and drenching us all before we even step out the door. "And you're leaving?" she demands Charlie. "What's going on at the camp? I couldn't hear anything over that damn rain."

Charlie fidgets. "Well, ma'am, ya see, I gots myself some personal business to attend to, so, maybe Kodiak could fill ya in, if ya don't mind. . ."

"Not if Xelta wants hot coffee, I'm not," Kodiak says hurriedly, standing up.

"Eh, but ma'am, I really gotta go 'ere pretty soon, so, ya know, I really would like to, but that just can't 'appen today. . ." he edges towards the door as Xelta, suspecting that she's being snubbed, growls venomously. I grin and leave the tent before anyone can drag me into the conversation, stepping out into the heavy drizzle and splashing across the rooftops.

The portal is only four buildings away from our camp, so it's not too long of a trudge through the rain. I don't see Katrina until I'm about three feet away, due to the fact that she's used her powers to blend in perfectly with her dreary grey background. She turns and blinks her beetle-black eyes at me, looking wet, tired, and bored. I wink at her.

"How you doing, Katrina?"

She shrugs and gives me an _I'm hanging in there, thanks_ look, blowing rainwater off her nose.

I morph into wolf form and sit down beside her on the edge of the roof, right above the portal. "Charlie's here," I tell her. "He says hi."

Katrina shakes herself off and stretches luxuriously before poking me playfully in the side with her nose, then bounding gratefully off towards the tent to get some rest. I slump down on the rooftop, trying to ignore the raindrops as they come down, soon rendering me soggy and chilled.

I hate this weather. I really do. Maybe it did help us stay inconspicuous, but it didn't do much else besides that. My ideal weather is lukewarm, middle of the night, and windy. I liked the darkness, for obvious reasons, and wind so that I could smell things better. But six days of rain? That was total crap, and Zeus knew it, too.

He has some pathetic excuse, I'm sure, but why New York? If he _has _to vent his feelings, why not make it rain in, like, Nigeria or something? I mean, they probably need the water more than we do. We have indoor plumbing here in Manhattan, which is more than enough water for me, thank you. I guess he just doesn't like us. Or Nigeria.

A long hour passes. Nothing stirs below me except for the occasional car and a lone alley cat, zigzagging erratically left and right to avoid the heavy raindrops as he goes about his business. I sigh as I watch the cat disappear around a corner. I used to eat guys like him.

Off in the distance, a sound catches my attention. I can barely hear it over the rain, but it's definitely there. Standing up, I perk my ears and raise my head, trying to pick it up better. They're footsteps, which isn't really all that interesting, but there are two pairs, and one of them sounds like. . . Hooves. A satyr.

I inhale deeply, trying to identify them, but it's no use. The rain is way to heavy, and they're still pretty far away, even though they seem to be moving fast. I bite my lip and glance back in the direction of our tent. I might not need any help, but it's always good to have backup, just in case. The problem is, if I call for it now, the satyr might hear me and I'll blow our cover.

I poise myself on the edge of the roof, preparing for the jarring leap to the cement. The footsteps come closer, now accompanied by indistinguishable voices that I don't recognize. One is a satyr, I'm sure now, and the other sounds like a boy to me. I briefly think I know his voice, but quickly dismiss the thought.

"Come on!" The satyr appears at the mouth of the alley, a boy running at his side. The boy has black hair and sea-green eyes, and a very distinctive face. I do a double take before I can stop myself, but quickly forget about him as I leap from the rooftop, throwing back my head to howl a warning to my comrades back at the tent as I do so. I land fifteen feet in front of the demigod, between him and the portal.

The demigod's eyes narrow as he studies me, and he stands beside the satyr instead of cowering behind him, like most of the demigods we get. I meet his sea-green eyes through the rain and don't look away, drawing back my lips in a snarl. The satyr draws his reed pipes, and I bound threateningly forward several steps, making them back away.

The demigod glances sideways at the satyr through the rain. "Well?" he asks, not the slightest bit of panic in his voice. In fact, he looks even more calm than the satyr.

The satyr watches me wordlessly. He knows I'm the underdog here. I don't want either of them to get through the portal, but if I try to take out the demigod, the satyr will cover his back with those freaking pipes, so they'll both get away and I'll be turned into a stinkweed or something pleasant like that. If I go for the satyr, the demigod is sure to get away, considering he doesn't jump into the fight and help the satyr kick my butt. What I really need right now is. . .

_WHAP!!_ The satyr's eyes roll back in his head, and he falls on his face.

. . . A nice mutant bat kid.

"You know, that was perfectly timed," I tell Kodiak as the demigod leaps back from his winged form. Kodiak just shrugs.

Fiona and Xelta leap from the rooftop, landing beside me. Katrina comes in from the street behind Kodiak, looking pissed at being put back in action after only an hour of sleep, and really, _really_ mean.

Without hesitation, I leap onto the demigod. The two of us crash to the pavement as Xelta and Kodiak post themselves in front of the portal. The demigod and I roll sideways, knocking over garbage cans and littering the alley with filth, leaving droplets of blood on the pavement. He's really strong for a new demigod, and I soon find myself aching from his numerous blows. He slams me up against a trash can, digging his foot into my stomach and scrambling to his feet. Before he can go far though, Katrina lashes out with her paws and he hits the ground again. I pounce on him wrestle him up against the alley wall, pinning him securely there. I sink my teeth deep into his neck, blood flooding my mouth and the smell of sea spray drifting across my nose. The demigod twitches around beneath me, reluctant to die, but eventually he goes limp.

"Another one down," Kodiak says as I step away from the body, spitting out gobs of blood onto the wet concrete.

"Wait a sec," I say, dragging the carcass to a spot behind a dumpster, where the rain doesn't reach us quite as easily. I peer down at the boys face, really studying it for the first time. I put my nose down by his mangled neck and inhale deeply. Sure enough, the smell of the sea comes to my attention. "Come here," I call to Kodiak, and he and the other gather around me.

"Is it just me, or does this kid look like someone we know?" I ask them.

Katrina sniffs the body's hand, looks confused, and does it again, frowning.

Kodiak stares down at the demigod's glassy eyes. "He looks like, like, Percy Jackson Jr. or something!"

I nod. "Smells like him too," I say, and Katrina growls agreement.

Xelta scowls, but not at us, for once. "Looks like the god of the sea isn't quite as truthful as we think," is all she says.


	10. Chapter 10

**So, here's chapter 10! Sorry it's been like, a week since my last update, but school's started and I'm probably only going to have time to publish things on the weekend, unless I manage to type my chapters fast during the week. So, as always, thank you sooooo much to all my awesome reviewers and the people who add my story to their favorites! It really helps, you guys. But we didn't come here to read sappy stuff like _that _now did we? Do continue, please!**

Ch. 10

As I had expected, Zane wanted to see this second son of the sea god for himself as soon as possible. We sent word on ahead with a runner, and Zane showed up the next day at our little rooftop camp, accompanied by none other than Hawkeye.

Fiona was on portal guard, and the rest of us are sprawled lazily out on the rooftop soaking up the much appreciated sun when they arrive. I hear their footsteps from across the rooftop, and heave an exaggerated sigh upon their approach. "Well, high and mighty King of the Rebels seems to have stooped to mingle with the commoners. What an honor," I drone sarcastically, not bothering to open my eyes or move from my nice warm spot in the sun beside Kodiak. I also--wisely--don't specify weather I'm talking to Zane or Hawkeye.

Zane snorts. "Well, you're certainly the lively lot today. I thought you were my best portal guard, not a bunch of lay-about amateurs."

"Amateurs?" I demand, still none of us so much as bothering to sit up. "I haven't seen precious Prince Hawkeye the Professional out here flaunting his experienced professionalism to us by catching demigods with us inexperienced little amateurs lately, have you?" I ask, and Kodiak chuckles.

Hawkeye makes an exasperated noise in his throat, and Zane sighs. "At least he has an excuse. When was the last time you got buried under a brick wall, Christine?"

I cackle. "Not recently, thank the Titans, but I _am_ the one who dug Prince Hawkeye the Professional _out_ from under the wall, aren't I? And besides, if all you need is a serious injury in order to have an excuse, we should have been pulled out days ago. Batman over here is the only one who hasn't spent his time knocked out cold yet," I say, elbowing Kodiak in the ribs.

"Well, you--never mind. I'm not going to argue about this. So, where's this demigod we're supposed to be checking out?" Zane asks, cutting the fun short.

I sigh. "Alright, troops, let's get the show on the road. Xelta, go warn Fiona we've got company; make sure she has all her clothes on or whatever. I have no idea what that kid does when there's nobody around. Kodiak and Katrina, you guys go get our demigod. I'll play hostess to Prince Hawkeye the Professional, I suppose."

Before I have even finished speaking, there is a flurry of activity around me. When I open my eyes less than three seconds later, I am alone on the rooftop with Zane and Hawkeye.

"Now _that's_ efficiency for--" I catch sight of Hawkeye for the first time, and sit up, my eyes widening. "What inHades happened to you? I thought you were supposed to be looking better, not like you recently stepped on a land mine," I comment.

Hawkeye scowls, which really doesn't help his appearance. He's lost a ton of weight since I've seen him last, and has developed dark circles around his mismatched eyes. His black hair is overgrown and falls across his face, gaunt and paled from stress and pain. He walks with his shoulders hunched, taking a good four inches off his height, and there's something about his eyes, other than the circles, that bothers me. He looks. . . haunted.

"What?" he growls, sounding exhausted, ticked off, and not the least bit happy to be here.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Love your raccoon eyes, by the way. Ever considered signing up for rehab?" I suggest helpfully.

Hawkeye's silver eye twitches dangerously (another odd little habit he's picked up since our days under Kronos) and he tenses up. "Christine Savage, you are such a--"

I snigger and wink mischievously at him, tying my red hair up into a ponytail. "Nothing I can do about that, sorry. It's natural. Anyway, c'mon." I lead him and Zane across the rooftops to the portal, where everyone else is already waiting for us. Katrina and Kodiak have the carcass laid out on the rooftop above the portal, with Xelta berating them about disrespect and Fiona picking her nose with enthusiasm. We had to find somewhere to put the body where it wouldn't begin to decay, preferably somewhere cold, until we were ready to dispose of it. I'm not going to tell you where we stored it, because it's pretty gross, even by my standards, and also because we'd probably get arrested if word ever got around. But anyway, we did find somewhere to put it, and it was in good condition.

Zane kneels down beside the carcass, his eyes narrowed, and the rest of us back off respectfully while he examines it. Hawkeye determinedly doesn't look at me, so I constantly glance his way, just to annoy him. Kodiak and Katrina notice, and grin at me.

Hawkeye glowers. "Well?" he asks Zane before too long. "Is he really a son of Poseidon?"

Zane doesn't answer for a moment, then nods slowly, not looking up from the body. "I believe so. He's the spitting image of Jackson, when he was younger, and Jackson looks very much like his father. But. . ." He looks up a me. "You say there was only one satyr, Christine?"

"Yeah. We can go dig what's left of him out of the dumpster up the road, if you want to see."

"That won't be necessary, thank you. But it bothers me that there's only one. Usually children of the Big Three have more than one satyr, because they can't risk being killed. If they haven't been associated with a Big Three god yet, like in Jackson's case, that may not be true, but this boy is very obviously a child of Poseidon. There's no way any satyr could miss it." He frowns.

"What about that Hades girl that got through Portal One with Di Angelo?" I ask. "Charlie never mentioned her having more than one satyr."

"She didn't," Zane says, standing up. "Di Angelo was the only one who knew she was a child of Hades--he kept it a secret from the others. Her satyr suspected, of course, but the girl was never declared a child of the Big Three. That's how Di Angelo got to the portal so fast when she was attacked: he was watching out for her."

"So what do you want us to do with this kid?" I ask, nodding at the body.

"Get rid of it," Zane tells us. "Hopefully, the demigods will never find out he was a Big Three child. There's been a lot of activity around here in the last couple of days or so though. The Bronx especially has been practically crawling with godlings, and some of our runners have been captured up in that area; haven't seen any them since they tried to get through to Portal Six over there."

He looks over at us, and something shines in his eyes, just for a second. It looks suspiciously like pride, and I raise my eyebrows at him. "Be careful out here," Zane tells us, now returned to his usual growling, scowling self. "Hawkeye and I have to go check up on Portal Four, out in the suburbs. There's been a lot of pet dogs going missing in that area in the last week, and you know how telekhines will eat anything."

I cock my head to one side. "And what's wrong with dog meat, may I ask? You gotta eat what you gotta eat when you live on the streets."

Xelta sneers. "And here I thought _Fiona_ was the cannibal," she mutters.

Zane gives her a hard look as he struts over to the edge of the roof, Hawkeye in his wake. "As I was saying, the demigods are bound to make the connection with the missing dogs if we let it go too long, so we should go interfere. I'll send another runner tomorrow night, at the latest," he says, giving us a stiff nod. "Good luck."

With that, he leaps fearlessly off the roof, disappearing from my sight.

"Don't you get rid of those coon eyes now, Hawkeye. They're really classy," I call out to Hawkeye as he makes to follow Zane. Hawkeye flips me the bird over his shoulder, looking murderous, and vanishes from the rooftop.

I chuckle to myself. I never get tired of having Hawkeye around.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Right from the beginning, we were doomed to lose the battle.

On the second night after Zane's visit, there was no warning, not even the slightest indication that the demigods had found us. But find us they did.

At four in the morning, with Xelta on portal duty and Kodiak guarding the tent, there was nothing more than a loud warning shout from Kodiak before the battle began. Katrina, Fiona, and I are instantly awoken by his cry and out of the tent in moments. I burst through the tent flap in full wolf form and smash head-log into a demigod, neither of us having time to react to the sudden attack as we tumble sideways.

I instinctively slam the demigod girl down into the rooftop. She digs a knee into my gut from beneath me, winding me, but I lash out with my front claws and drag them across her face. She howls and flails around, and I hold her down and embed my claws as deep into her neck as they will go, inflicting a deep, fatal wound before Mrs. O'Leary the hellhound rams me in the side, knocking me off the dying demigod and sending me staggering.

A satyr jumps me from behind, and I hit the ground snarling as a long, slender knife blade sinks deep into my side between my ribs, near my spine. I flip myself onto my back, crushing the satyr with my weight, and he releases me but leaves the hilt of the knife sticking gruesomely out of my flesh. I whirl on him as he tries to scramble to his hooves and leap onto him, sinking my yellow fangs deep into his collar and literally beginning to rip him apart, bit by bit.

The freezing cold hands of Nico Di Angelo grasp my neck and drag me back off my victim with amazing strength, completely unexpected, throwing me into Mrs. O'Leary once again. I wrestle myself out from her jaws and launch an attack of my own, snapping my fangs at her as we circle each other, blood and gristle and spit dripping off my lips. I lunge forward and clamp my jaw around her forepaw while she shakes me viciously back and forth, ripping at my shoulder blades with her fangs.

Mrs. O'Leary shakes me off, flinging me a good twenty feet across the roof, through the battle. I haul myself back to my feet, now on the other side of the fight, and try to get my bearings while no one's trying to kill me. Kodiak is holding his own against Di Angelo and two other demigods I don't recognize in the darkness, and Katrina has taken my spot battling Mrs. O'Leary. Fiona is engaged in a wrestling match to the death with a demigod about three times her size, struggling to get a good grip on his neck with her filed teeth. Off on another roof, near where she was guarding the portal, Xelta is occupying at least four other demigods and satyrs, hacking off limbs and goat tails with her giant sword as they try to get past her guard. Three demigods and a satyr lay dead on the ground, and two demigods are approaching me.

Without hesitation, I step forward to meet their attack, knocking the smaller of the two demigods, the girl, to the side as I leap onto the chest of the other one, slamming him backward with all the force I can muster. He tightens his grip on his sword and tries to maneuver it so that it can be used against me, but it is impossible to do so at such a close range, as I am pressed up right against him. Unfortunately for me, he has nothing to worry about.

The smaller girl demigod steps in from the side, her long, slender sword held in front of her, and lands me the biggest wound I've had in years.

She stabs her blade down into my chest, just to the side of my shoulder, and rips down for all she's worth. The sword blade slices down the side of my chest, it's razor sharp edge easily parting my flesh and leaving deep gashes in my ribs, cutting into the bone. The girls drags the blade across my ribs and then embeds it sideways into my body below the ribcage, so that it sinks a good four inches into me, still continuing to push it down.

I fall backwards off the other demigod, a sword shoved deep into my side and the girl still attached to it's handle. I collapse sideways, away from the girl, sliding off the slick blade and crashing to the ground, blood pooling around me, pain exploding in my brain, wiping out my thoughts, laboring my breath. Probably thinking me a definite goner, the girl helps the other demigod to his feet, and the two of them turn away from me to gang up on Katrina, who is still fighting Mrs. O'Leary.

I am far too weak now to even attempt to stand up, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, my fur sticky with blood and my senses fading, so I can do nothing but to watch out of the corner of my eye as Xelta loses her battle. A demigod, faster than the rest, slips beneath her sword with his celestial bronze knife and stabs it deep into her chest, dead center, and flashes back out of reach just as quickly. Xelta freezes on the spot, her sword slipping from her grasp as she falls, her black eyes misting over. She hits the rooftop heavily, her chest weakly heaves once, and she dies.

Above my head I hear Kodiak's voice, but I can't process the words. My vision is blacking out and my senses are failing, indescribable pain crashing in on my brain. My heart does gravity's work, pumping my blood out of my body, killing me. I have no idea what has happened to Kodiak, Katrina, and Fiona, and I'm in to much pain to care.

To my right, I barely notice a commotion, and the sound of the battle gets slightly louder, or so I believe, as if more people have joined the fight. But then my consciousness fades, and I get one more look at the Manhattan rooftop, bathed in moonlight and blood and memories, before everything sinks into cool, merciful darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Yay! Here is chap. 11 finally! My computer is acting up on me, and I've been fighting it for the last couple days, so sorry for the long wait! Also, I usually don't reply to my reviewers, but SuzieQluvsU (did I spell that right?), you're review is worthy of notice. You're just a chapter or two ahead of me in terms of character background! I probably should have done a bit of that earlier, but I just couldn't find anywhere it could go. So next chapter or so we'll get to know Hawkeye and some of those others a bit better. Also, I do realize that monsters are supposed to go _poof _when they are touched by celestial bronze, but I find that to be a bit of a get-outta-jail-free card, don't you? I mean, all you would have to do is prick a monster in the paw or something and it'd explode into dust. I think that's a total rip off in terms of good action. So I dropped it completely. Besides, Christine, Kodiak, and some of those others wouldn't explode into dust anyway, because they're not monsters, they're mutants. But thank you so much for the great review! Keep reading!**

Ch. 11

Do yourself a favor and, next time you happen to be involved in a war, _don't _get captured by the enemy. Trust me on this one. I've had some on-the-job experience here, and I know what I'm talking about. Just in case, you know, you hadn't figured that out yet.

But I was really screwed this time. It took me about a second and a half to figure that out, especially when I wake up in a cage. A. . . gods, dare I say it. . . An actual _dog crate._ Yes, a dog crate, like, with a latch and a plastic floor! Those demigods have the guts, the gall, to confine someone like me in a freaking dog crate! I was absolutely furious, at the very least. The problem was, I couldn't do anything about it.

Yeah, I know. The indestructible Christine Savage had finally hit bottom, had sunk to a level of weakness where I could barely lift my head, let alone bust myself out. That's called the pit of shame right there. I mean, it was just _wire_, and yet I couldn't free myself. It wasn't even worth considering, I was so weak.

Just as it didn't take me long to discover that I was screwed, it also didn't take me long to figure out where I was. Several minutes after rousing myself from unconsciousness, the smell hits my senses. The disgusting, festering scent of the gods and all things warm and fuzzy inside, flooding my nostrils and making me gag and choke. How could they _live_ in this stench? In a place where the very ground radiates glory to the gods, and the buildings practically scream _I AM PATHETICALLY LOYAL TO A FAMILY OF SELFISH IMMORTALES WHO DON'T CARE THAT I AM ALIVE!!! _It's absolutely disgusting. I mean, even my dog crate had little Greek designs carved into the metal bars, no doubt preaching crap about the poetic abilities of Apollo and the glorious powers of Zeus and a bunch of lies like that. Even worse, I would probably end up becoming some sort of religious sacrifice to Ares if I allowed myself to sit here long enough, which was, in my opinion, the ultimate demise.

That was the first thing that crossed my mind, even before I had properly examined my surroundings. My sight was slightly limited, as I was incapable of moving much, due to my gaping side wound which was, without a doubt, the ugliest thing I've seen in years. But other than that, my cage was located smack in the middle of the Camp Half-Blood sword arena.

This was actually a pretty good idea on their part, as the sword arena always had a lot of people floating around; lessons for the new campers (the ones we hadn't gotten first), practice for the older kids, and kids who just wanted to escape from the bustle of the rest of the camp. With all those people around, and me unable to sit up, there was no way I could be getting myself out of this mess anytime soon; even now I could see several girls standing around chatting away on the edge of the arena.

I can also feel eyes on my back, but I'm so discombobulated that it takes me a while to figure out who's watching me. Finally I twist my head around to look behind me, and see Mrs. O'Leary the hellhound sitting maybe three feet away, watching me calmly. I meet her eyes, and several slow, silent seconds tick by as we regard each other with distaste. Then she gets up and turns her back on me, bounding off up a trail that leads deeper into the camp.

I sigh and lay my head back down on the plastic floor of my prison, cataloguing my injuries. Other than my side wound, I can feel a long gash across my jaw, and several claws on my back left paw have been torn out. I'm missing a fang of two, and one of my injuries from the demigod's raid on the Rebel camp has reopened. I've lost a ton of blood, most of which has plastered itself to my fur, and I'm also pretty skinny, drawing me to the conclusion that I've been out cold for four, maybe five days. I don't even bother trying to move; I can feel the stiffness that wracks my body.

All in all, I'm a mess.

I wonder what happened to Kodiak and the others. Xelta was dead, that much I knew, but I had no idea what had become of everyone else. Kodiak would probably have had enough sense to fly away when things got out of hand, unless his wings had been injured and he was incapable of flight. Fiona and Katrina probably would have bailed too, unless they were dead. I get the feeling that they hadn't been captured--they were too smart for that--but they could easily have been overwhelmed and killed.

I'm distracted by approaching footsteps. I raise my eyes to see Mrs. O'Leary leading Jackson, Chiron, Nico Di Angelo, and the Ares girl, the one who killed Kronos's drakon, over to my prison.

Jackson is glowering at me. He reminds me a bit of Hawkeye, with his hunched way of walking and the dark circles around his eyes. Di Angelo doesn't look much better, but being a son of Hades, he always looks like that I'd guess.

I quickly wipe my face clean of emotion as they approach me, letting my body go slack and staring straight ahead, trying to look as uninterested as possible. Mrs. O'Leary plunks down beside my cage, panting happily and looking very pleased with herself for alerting the management to my stirring.

Chiron folds his hands as he studies me. "Who do we have here?" he asks quietly, speaking to no one in particular.

"We still haven't identified it," Di Angelo says, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's been around, though. This is the one who set the forest on fire and fought us for Annabeth at their camp."

Chiron nods slowly, still watching me, then turns to Mrs. O'Leary. "Has she spoken to you?" he asks the hellhound, who shakes her head.

"She can talk?" barks the Ares girl. "I thought she was just a wolf."

"We believe that she has at least human-level intelligence, Clarisse," Chiron replies patiently. "And there are several reported instances where she has spoken, although only briefly. She has the problem-solving abilities equal to those of a human, and the lifespan. This creature has been on our records since even before the war. I first encountered her about ten years ago, and she does not appear to have aged much since then."

"I say we kill her," Jackson spits venomously, surprising all of us. From what I know, it isn't like Jackson to talk like that. That's more the kind of thing I'd expect the Ares girl, Clarisse, to say. But then again, he's probably still murderous about me threatening Chase during their ambush on the Rebel camp.

Chiron lays a hand gently on Jackson's shoulder. "I understand why you say that," he says gently, "but while she is here, I suggest we try to get some information out of her before we decide what to do."

"What's the use?" Jackson asks harshly. "She's not even a hostage, really. Monsters don't sacrifice anything for each other. They probably don't even know she's alive, and wouldn't care even if they did. And she won't talk. I mean, look at her."

I realize too late that I had been watching Jackson with a huge evil grin on my face.

Chiron frowns thoughtfully at me. "It is true that the chances of her willingly giving us information are nonexistent, and we do not practice torture methods on our prisoners. The fact that we have a captive at all is very rare itself; I don't approve of taking prisoners of war."

"I agree with Percy," Clarisse growls. "I say we leave her here to rot. She won't last long anyway. Check out that side wound Emily gave her. It's a wonder that thing didn't kill her right off the bat. Besides, she's gone at least four days without anything to eat--she won't last much longer."

Chiron looks sideways at Di Angelo. "Nico? What do you think?"

Di Angelo studies me with his dark eyes, and I stare fearlessly back at him. I hope he's remembering the final battle outside of the Empire State Building, where I'd taken a huge chunk out of his shoulder. "I don't have any preference," he says after a second, "but I don't believe she'll reveal any information to us, and killing her would be easiest. But it's up to you." He looks calmly at Chiron, who gives him a look that clearly says that his comment wasn't helpful.

"Very well," the centaur says after a moment. "Let's discuss this somewhere more private, shall we?" He watches me searchingly, as if he knows that I'll use everything and anything I hear against him. I can't help but smirk.

"That's what I was thinking," Clarisse says, giving me a filthy look before following Chiron as he walks off.

But Jackson doesn't move. He just stands there, his hands balled into fists, staring at me. Di Angelo makes to follow Clarisse and Chiron, but notices Jackson, and turns back.

"C'mon, Percy. You can't do anything about it," he says quietly. "She'll pay. You know that."

I turn my head to look at them. There's nobody else in the arena at the moment, besides Mrs. O'Leary. Looking at the venomous expression on Jackson's face, I allow myself to cackle. "Found yourself a new girlfriend yet, Percy Jackson? You might need one here pretty soon," I tell him.

Jackson bites his lip so hard I see a glimmer of blood on his teeth. I have no idea what he would have done to me if he hadn't been able to keep himself under control, but it wouldn't have been pretty. Di Angelo notices the danger signs and grabs Jackson's arm.

"Dude, don't do it," he says, trying to wrench Jackson away. "She's just baiting you. Come _on."_

Jackson allows himself to be drug back a step, and then another, but still doesn't turn away from me. His brilliant green eyes are impossible to read.

I shake my head at him, still sniggering as Di Angelo puts all his weight into it and manages to haul Jackson away. They both glance back over their shoulders at me as they march off, Jackson trembling with fury, but neither say a thing. I watch them until they are gone from sight, leaving me only with Mrs. O'Leary.

She growls at me, and I stick my tongue out at her. A bit immature maybe, but it makes a point. Of course, in retaliation I get a swift kick in the side of my kennel which rattles me painfully, but oh well. I replace my head innocently on my paws, and Mrs. O' Leary gives me one more dirty look before sitting down on her haunches just beyond the wire bars, her back turned to me. But then her fur bristles, and she seems to have a second thought. She turns back around so that she can see me properly.

I swallow back a scornful snort and close my eyes, ignoring her. I've got more important things to think about. An escape plan, for instance.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Unsurprisingly, escape was hard to come by in this hellhole. It took me almost four days to figure out a plan of escape, and even then it wasn't really a well thought-out plan. More of a, get-out-of-the-cage-and-make-everything-up-from-there kind of plan.

See, my escape methods are pretty darn limited. I'm not really a pleasant person to talk to, so using my rapier wit and charms to convince a passing demigod to open the cage door for me wasn't an option. Neither was using my stellar brain power to figure out a way to outsmart the magical padlock on the door, since I'm more of a 'jump first think about where you're jumping later' kind of person, and am not known for my knowledge of numbers and patterns. Morphing into a human is out for the count too, since not only would that give away my identity, it would also sap up my energy way too fast. So that leaves busting myself out.

I've been working on my balance the last couple of days cooped up in the kennel, and am now a bit more hopeful about this plan of action. Well, I can stand up anyway. It's a start, right? Anyway, this is by far my best bet, since raw physical power and endurance are naturally my two strong suits, way more effective than my persuasiveness or problem-solving abilities.

And believe it or not, this plan that I was concocting actually took a while to think out, due to how incredibly distracted I was. Jackson, unfortunately, insisted on practicing his swordsmanship in the arena in all his free time, never too far from me. Given the looks he shot me out of the corners of his eyes, it didn't take me long to begin to worry about how good of an aim he had, in case he every tried to use that sword of his like a large dart and skewer me like a giant-sized shish kabob. Nico Di Angelo and Chiron must have been thinking along the same lines, as they were constantly inventing distractions to keep Jackson away from me, and when that didn't work, insisted on watching him practice.

Along with the lingering threat of being stabbed by Jackson, there was also all the other demigods in camp, and Mrs. O' Leary. Unlike us Rebels, the demigods don't torment their captives quite as excessively as we do, but they did make me nervous. After all, I still didn't know what Chiron and the other head campers had decided to do with me, but I really don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

I figure they intend on keeping me around for a least a little while longer, since I was, thankfully, given a meal a day. This helped my strength considerably, but I was still in pretty bad shape. My side wound, being deprived of proper medical attention, was getting worse and worse, and I was beginning to suspect that it was infected. It had begun to heal up a bit and I cleaned it as best I could, but it still hurt like the dickens whenever I moved.

So, on my fourth conscious night as a prisoner in Camp Half-Blood, after the curfew had been called and the campers retired to their cabins (most of which had been restored since Katrina and I burned them down), I haul myself to my feet inside the little kennel, swaying back and forth in the darkness, getting used to my paws again.

Mrs. O' Leary gives me an annoyed look out of the corner of her eye. She's been guarding me around the clock ever since my arrival at the camp from what I know, and she's obviously not happy about it.

I get right up close to the flimsy wire bars of my prison, and spit at the hellhound. "What are you looking at?" I snarl.

Her hackles rise, and she bares her teeth at me as I sneer. "What's that look for this time? You're always complaining about something, do you know that? It's really a wonder these demigods keep you around, when you think about it," I say. "But then again, they're all so thick-headed I guess that's all I should expect from them, eh?"

Mrs. O' Leary growls, moonlight glittering off her pearly teeth.

"I guess you can't be much better either," I continue thoughtfully. "Sticking around this dump the rest of your life? You were doing way better with Daedalus, if you ask me. At least he had enough common sense to doubt the gods, unlike this pathetic bunch. Doesn't look like any of that rubbed off on you though, huh?"

That's the last straw for the hellhound. With a loud snarl, she lunges at me, thrusting her huge paws through the wire bars of my cage and bending them away slightly, much to my immense delight. I return the attack with gusto despite my wounds, and the entire kennel rattles fiercely, even threatening to tip over at one point. I sink my front claws deep into the scruff of Mrs. O' Leary's neck and snap at her throat through the bars while trying to keep out of range of her own huge paws, which would rip me open easily if given the chance.

Grimacing in concentration, I throw myself painfully forward against Mrs. O' Leary at the same exact same time she gets a claw in my shoulder and yanks back hard. Our combined momentum sends the dog crate crashing over onto it's side, partially trapping Mrs. O' Leary underneath. Without hesitation, I leap onto her head, slamming myself onto her as hard as possible through the wire bars, trying to knock her out. Like all hellhounds, she has a hopelessly thick head, so this takes a little while longer that I would like, but eventually her eyes roll back and she passes out as I bring my bodyweight down on her skull.

I want to finish her off, but I'm already losing precious time. We made more than enough noise to alert the harpies that patrol the camp after curfew, searching for demigods out of bed, and I can already hear them flapping closer.

Finding the weak point in the wire bars where Mrs. O' Leary first thrust her paws through, I use my teeth and shoulders to bend them further aside, making a hole just big enough for me to squeeze though. My side wound is throbbing as I escape my wire prison and emerge on the grass of the sword arena, leaping over Mrs. O' Leary and bounding off up the trail that leads past the Big House and towards the pine tree that marks the magical border.

The calls of the harpies ring out behind me as I race past the Big House, a single lamplight glittering from above it's door like a lighthouse beacon in the warm night. Up ahead of me I can see the dark outline of the great pine tree, silhouetted against the starry sky. At it's base, my main obstacle lies in wait: Peleus, the dragon hired to guard the pine tree in the absence of demigods.

I can see the dragon's eyes shining at me from beneath the boughs, never straying from my face as I approach at a pained run. Above the dragons head, a different reflection of light catches my eye. From a low branch of the pine tree hangs a large piece of material, shining softly in it's own self-generated glow.

The Golden Fleece.

Almost immediately, I get a brilliant, possibly suicidal idea (I'm good at those). Peleus must notice a change in my face, because he raises himself off the ground and narrows his eyes threateningly.

My side wound is beginning to bleed again, sprinkling the grass with drops of red and cutting into my side like the blade that put it there, but I ignore it, veering off the path and towards the pine tree, where Peleus waits for me. The flapping of the harpies is closing in from behind me, but I don't slow.

Silently cursing myself for my own habit of making dangerous snap decisions but still not the least bit willing to stop what I am doing, I close the distance between myself and Peleus and plow into him head first. I don't think that the dragon really believed I would have the guts--or the stupidity--to actually attack him, and he is knocked backwards several feet by my body-slam in surprise. But he instantly recovers himself and gives an expert twitch, throwing me right off his back and into the grass, sending me rolling.

I throw my paws up in the nick of time as the dragon bears down on me, and his teeth snap shut so close to my neck that he gets a mouthful of fur. Peleus slides off my body and over my head, and I leap to my feet just as he whirls around and snaps at me again. I yank my head back, but not quite fast enough. He misses my skull, but his teeth sink all the way through my ear, so as I pull back, my ear is shredded like a ribbon. I yelp and lunge forward at the dragon, clawing at his face.

Now I've had my fair share of experience fighting dragons, so I know that they're only big weak spot is their face. They're a bit less indestructible up there since the scales are softer, and without their eyes especially, they're really useless. Also, when you actually do make a dragon bleed, they're so surprised and angry with themselves for letting their guard down that they can't think straight or concentrate on a fight. Usually, dragons have so may heads this is pretty useless information, but when you get lucky enough to square off against a dragon like Peleus here, with one head, it comes in pretty handy.

So when I managed to weasel my way past Peleus's claws and get right in his face, I go for his eyes with my claws. Possibly out of sheer luck, I immediately strike a hit; my claws gouge deep into the skin above Peleus's right eye, and black dragon blood pours down his face. The beast yowls in a most undignified manner and shrinks away from me, pawing at his face with a clawed hand.

This is all I need to reel backward several steps, leap up, and grab the corner of the Golden Fleece in my fangs, flip it over the branch it dangles from, and haul tail away from the tree as fast as I can go. A harpy falls from the sky several feet in front of me, right on the border, and screeches loudly. The call is taken up by the other harpies at they circle around, warning the inhabitants of Camp Half-Blood of a crisis.

Without pause I shove the harpy out of the way, yanking the Fleece from her reach as she makes a grab for it, and throw myself from the top of the hill. As I go, the harpy stretches out and pokes a filthy yellow claw deep into my thigh, ripping open yet another wound for the record. I don't look back though, half running, half rolling down the hill as I escape my captors. Already I can hear voices ringing out as the demigods react to the harpies' warning call, awakening and bursting out of their cabins.

But by the time Jackson, Di Angelo, and Chiron reach the top of Half-Blood Hill, I'm long gone, disappeared into the darkness and the midnight bustle of the city with the Golden Fleece. I leave nothing but a trail of blood drops behind me, that glisten in the cold moonlight like little crystal beads.

_____________________________________________________________

My first priority, even before returning to the Rebel camp or cleaning my wounds, is to get rid of the Fleece. The demigods will be desperate to get it back, and if it's anywhere within easy access, they'll get it. At the moment, I don't need a permanent hiding place for it, just something temporary until Zane gets wind of what I've done and figures out a course of action.

I decide that dropping it into the Hudson River is my best bet. The god that lives in the Hudson feels no loyalty to the gods of Olympus, and has to be bribed to do anything. Plus, the Hudson is not sea water, so Jackson won't be able to locate the Fleece amid all that muck unless he practically steps on it, and all his little salt water fish buddies won't be able to find it for him either.

Of course, if Jackson can't find the Fleece in the Hudson, we might not be able to either, but right now that's the least of my worries. I just need somewhere that the Fleece can be hidden and eventually retrieved. As added bonus, the Fleece will probably help the pollution in the Hudson considerably, as did Jackson's sea star that he manipulated the River gods with during the war.

Another reason I turn to the river is because our Rebel runners that relay messages from Zane to the portal guards follow it for a length. I can tell as the river comes into view that my consciousness is not going to last me much longer, and there's no use trying to fight it, so if I have to pass out then I might as well do it where someone from the Rebel camp will find me before the demigods or the mortal cops.

Slinking out of an alleyway, I skitter across the street and limp into the murky waters of the Hudson River up to my chest. I toss the Golden Fleece as far out into the current as I can get it, grunting softly with the exertion. There is a momentary glimmer as the Fleece sinks into the river, and then it disappears, the only light on the water coming from the reflection of city lights on it's surface.

I stand still for a moment, enjoying the coolness of the river on my many burning wounds, watching the brown water around me turn red with my own blood. Then I turn and limp painfully back to the littered bank, dragging myself up to a brick wall as pain and fatigue begin to cloud my eyesight. I slump down against the wall, leaving a streak of blood, and go slack, collapsing once again into the cool relief of unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm sorry! I'm so, so, so sorry to all of you for putting in all this great character background and then totally burning all my points to the ground with the second half of the chaper! Eclipse of Nyx~Jacob, please don't hate me! I really am sorry, but I just couldn't resist! The temtation was waaaayyy to strong for me, and I gave in eventually. I can't help myself! Please though, even if you now despise me, do review. I got very little encouragement on chap. 11, so I'm hoping for some reviews this time. Anyway, I'm sorry, and I hope you still like me, and please review.**

Ch. 12

"Ziral, what are you _doing_?"

The telekhine pup looks up at me and grins innocently. "Nuthin', Christine."

I cock an eyebrow at him skeptically as all the telekhine pups giggle and squeal. He's perched on Chase's legs, holding a blow torch in his flippers and grinning maniacally while she looks at him in terror and tries to buck him off her lap, fighting against the duct tape across her mouth.

"Can't you start that thing?" I ask Ziral. "You turn the dial on the side and click the little button in the front at the same time. See?"

I take the blow torch and demonstrate, and a flame shoots from the device. The telekhine pups shriek and bounce up and down in delight. Chase thrashes against the lamp post, her filthy hair, barely recognizable as blond, falling across her eyes as she strains against the ropes and duct tape that bind her skinny arms together.

I pass the blow torch to Ziral, who repositions himself on Chase's lap and fires it up for himself, giggling evilly.

"Don't even think about it!"

The pups groan, and I give Zane a dirty look. "What do you have to be so serious all the time?" I ask him as he stalks up and snatches the torch from Ziral. "Lighten up, dude. You're almost as bad as Hawkeye. She could use some third-degree burns, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask you," he growls, switching off the blowtorch and stowing it under his arm. "And where did you lot get this thing, anyway?"

Ziral sticks out his chin. "Predak gave it to me," he says defiantly.

"That moron will be the death of us all, passing out weapons to random minors," Zane grumbles, giving me a suspicious look, as if he's not quite convinced I'm not the source of the problem. Maybe I am.

"You're just paranoid they'll burn down the whole camp," I say, giving Zane a knowing look.

"And why shouldn't I be?" he asks. "They're kids with fire, Christine. You of all people should know how much damage they can cause." With that, he turns on his heel and struts off.

"Jeez, what a boring old stick in the mud, huh Ziral?" I say, patting the downcast telekhine on the head. "I bet I can find you a fluid lighter though. Not quite as impressive, but it'll do. Right Chase?"

She just glares at me, a little half-heartedly. I don't blame her, since she's been out captive for almost a month now. It's been three weeks since I escaped from Camp Half-Blood. Zane retrieved the Golden Fleece from the Hudson a couple days after the runners drug me back to camp, and hid it away someplace that only he knows about. I've recovered pretty well in the last week or two, and have been on my feet for a while. My side wound still hurts if I strain myself to hard, but other than that I'm as good as new. Well, no worse than I was before portal guard.

Speaking of the portal guard, as I had suspected, the people at camp had suspected me dead on the scene. After I had passed out on the rooftop a group from the Rebel camp, having been alerted by Charlie X, the mutant runner, had come to the rescue of Kodiak, Fiona, and Katrina. All three of them had managed to make it out of the battle safe with the rest of the fighters and Charlie, but I had been left with Xelta, thought to be dead or dying.

I had hung out with Kodiak and the others for a while as I was recovering from my side wound, and had learned that they had all suffered only mild wounds themselves and that a different group of Rebels had been sent in our place to guard Portal Two. Kodiak had returned to his usual antisocial self since his return to the camp, but we still sat by each other and chatted at marshmallow-roasting fires and stuff like that.

I had also caught up with Damian, Io, Predak, and Mokkan, who had been pulled out of Portal One with Estella Holt the empousa after Di Angelo's attack on them. Predak and Io were their usual casual, fun selves as always, seemingly not the least bit bothered by their experience with the skeletons or the wounds they had received. Mokkan had landed himself some pretty bad wounds though, and even now, almost four weeks later, was still rather stiff on his feet.

Damian had suffered the most though. He had lost an eye, and with his new eye patch, now bore a distinctive resemblance to the late Ethan Nakamura, along with a pattern of permanent scars decorated the left side of his head, following his hairline. The loss of his left eye had also influenced his ability to aim when he used a bow and arrow, so now he was only the best shot on this side of the Mississippi, instead of the best shot in the country.

Unsurprisingly, this had not helped his mood in the least bit. Even though he was still the best archer in our camp, he had not practiced enough yet to be as good as he used to be, so he was in a continuously bad mood. So between Hawkeye, Kodiak, and Damian, I was getting sick of moody teenage boys, and if it didn't stop here pretty soon, they were going to hear from me.

Anyway, I smirk at Chase as she glares daggers at me.

"A fluid lighter would be great!" Ziral squeaks excitedly, and all the pups resume their previous enthusiasm.

"You like to cause trouble, don't you Christine?" Damian comes up beside me, smiling slightly, Predak waddling at his heels.

I turn and grin at them, trying desperately hard not to look at Damian's eye patch. "More than you'll ever know. So, what's up?"

"You seen Hawkeye lately?" Predak asks me. "He's been really touchy lately, and we're worried he might be contemplating tossing himself off a skyscraper or something. He likes heights, you know."

I sigh. "We haven't gone back to the suicidal stage again, have we?" I ask wearily. Several years back we went through a stage where we were all terrified of leaving Hawkeye alone with his sword because he seemed very likely to kill himself with it. Actually, I don't think it was serious, but we loved to make fun of him and he always looks so dark that none of us, Predak and I especially, can resist an occasional emo joke. We're messed up like that. We are villains, after all.

Predak grins. "Nah. I don't _think_ so, anyway. We were just looking for someone to annoy."

Ziral bounces up. "We have a prisoner! You can annoy her!"

Laughing, Predak slaps the pup a high-five. "I like this kid. Where's your blow torch?"

This triggers Ziral and the other pups to launch into a rant on Zane and how he has no sense of humor and no patience and doesn't understand that you don't have to be nice to your prisoners of war and so on, which Predak joins into with enthusiasm, nodding understandingly and giving sympathetic looks. Damian and I exchange a glance and step around the group of telekhines, leaving unnoticed.

The Rebel camp is more empty than usual today, since there are some people away on portal guard and some foraging for food, others guarding the edges of our camp, cruising the New York City streets for some innocent mortal to torment, or simply sprawled out in their tents asleep. Damian and I walk side be side down the nearly deserted rows of tents in companionable silence, not really going anywhere in particular.

"So when did Hawkeye disappear on you?" I ask Damian after a while. "I saw him yesterday."

"So did I," he replies quietly, which is the only way he speaks now. "But nobody Predak and I have asked has seen him since. He's probably just off escaping the camp for the time being, scouring the streets for trouble to make."

I look sideways at him. "How's that eye of yours coming along?" I inquire, unable to resist.

Damian shrugs. "It's gone. That's all that matters," he mutters, studying the ground. "I'll get used to it eventually."

I give him a sympathetic glance that he either misses or chooses to ignore. Being half blind must be even harder on him than it would be on most people, and not just because he's an archer. Damian, like me, has lived more or less on his own his whole life, and relies heavily on his senses for survival. He never knew his parents, and ditched his foster home at age six. Because he had such a powerful demigod aurora for a son of Apollo, it didn't take long for him to be located and picked up by some of Kronos's soldiers and "adopted," if you want to call it that, by the ranks. Naturally, the army's anti-god policy had worn off on him before long, and he soon became one of them. By the time he was nine, he had befriended Danielle the hellhound and Laura the _empousa_, both of whom would eventually join Predak, Hawkeye, Damian, and me as members of our undercover group, working for Kronos.

I realize, with a jolt, as I walk down the rows of tents with Damian, that I actually miss those days. Hawkeye had been a bit more pleasant then, with Laura around. Although I had never had my suspicions confirmed, I was more than willing to bet that their relationship had been beyond friendly, which was probably why Hawkeye hadn't picked up another girlfriend since her death in front of the Empire State Building. He didn't want to let her go.

And then there had been Danielle. She and I had hit off immediately upon our first encounter with each other, and it was no wonder. Danielle had had a rub-me-the-wrong-way-and-I'll-smear-your-godsdamned-ass-out-across-the-pavement type of personality, which she had made very clear even without speech. We'd been close all the way through our undercover days, up until she was killed in the Battle of the Labyrinth, where Jackson had thrown Greek fire at her. She had been the first of our group to die.

I realize that Damian has been watching me. He knows what I'm thinking about, I'm sure, by the look on his face, so I stop walking and sigh.

"It sure changes fast, doesn't it?" I ask, and he shrugs, not answering. But he agrees. I can tell. Those blue eyes of his could never hide anything from me.

_____________________________________________________________

Hawkeye returns sever hours after my walk with Damian, dashing down the middle of camp and practically running me over as I lounge lazily around with Damian, Predak, and Kodiak, watching the telekhine pups throw rocks at Chase.

"Whoa, what's up with him?" I wonder out loud as Hawkeye's dark form flashes by us, heading in the direction of Zane's tent.

"Let's find out," Predak chirps, a very typical thing for him to say. He leaps up and scoots off after Hawkeye as Kodiak hauls me to my feet, ruffling his black bat wings curiously.

Hawkeye must have been moving pretty darn fast though, because by the time the four of us arrive at Zane's tent along with several other who have noticed Hawkeye, Io and Mokkan among them, he and Zane are already emerging from the tent, mixed expressions on their faces.

Hawkeye is still panting slightly, as if he has not quite recovered from his run. His damp falls across his dark eyes, which still support spectacularly black raccoon rings. But he has an odd look on his face, almost happy, I decide, but not quite, as it's somewhat overshadowed by his regular evil appearance.

Zane looks similar as he glances briefly at the crowd gathering around his tent, before stalking off at a jog. "Savage and Mokkan!" he barks over his shoulder. "We've got a mission for you! Kodiak Trenton, you too."

"_What?_" Predak exclaims. "Another one? Christine, you need to retire and let the rest of us do something for a change."

"Oh, come on," I tell him, dashing off after Zane and Hawkeye. "Let's see what they want."

Mokkan and Kodiak come up behind me, and we exchange a curious glance as we watch Zane approach Chase, sending telekhine pups scattering in every direction. She watches him wearily, shrinking back against the light post slightly as he comes closer. With one powerful swipe with his knife, Zane slices through her the ropes that bind her and scoops her up, tossing her roughly over his shoulder.

"What are you guys up to?" I ask Hawkeye, Mokkan trailing closely behind me.

"You'll see," he says. "I think you'll like it though. This is the kind of thing you do best, in my opinion."

That didn't really clear things up, but I don't pry as I follow Zane and Hawkeye back to Zane's tent. Chase is thrown mercilessly onto the cement once Zane enters the tent, followed closely by Hawkeye, Kodiak, Mokkan, and me.

Zane turns to look at us. "Hawkeye tells me that the time has come to shake things up a bit," he says. "There's been little action in the last couple of weeks, and we need to let the demigods know that we're still here. This could quite possibly start a full-scale war, which is what I want. Whether this will be the death of us or put us on the road to victory, I don't know yet, but it's our turn to make a move."

He draws a long dagger from his belt and sticks the point deep into his desk, making it rattle. "It's time," he says, "to give our prisoner back to her boyfriend."

We all turn to look at Chase, who is sprawled out on the ground, too weak even to sit up. But she knows what we're talking about, and her eyes go wide with terror.

I grin a Hawkeye, as beside me, Kodiak laughs evilly. "You're right, man. This _is_ what I do best."

_____________________________________________________________

An hour later, Hawkeye, Mokkan, and I are standing at the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, while Kodiak wheels around high above us, like a bird of prey. Hawkeye stands still, looking serious and kind of scary with his coon eyes, staring straight ahead at the group of demigods gathered under the pine tree. Mokkan stands behind him, tethered to a large wooden box, which he drags behind him. I stay to one side, in human form, waving a large white flag of truce that is impossible to miss.

We stay at the bottom of the hill, waiting for permission to advance closer to the border. Under the pine tree, I can make out the form of Chiron the centaur and Jackson, close beside Di Angelo, Clarisse the Drakon Eater or whatever she calls herself, Tyson the cyclops, and Underwood the satyr. I also recognize the Stoll brothers, and Underwood's nature nymph girlfriend, whatever her name is. There are quite a few others, none of which I can put a name to.

Finally, Chiron calls down to us, glancing up at the little black dot in the sky that represents Kodiak as he does so. "What is your business here, boy?" he asks, directly addressing Hawkeye.

"We request permission to approach the border," Hawkeye yells back, perfectly calm.

"And why would you want to do that?" Chiron asks suspiciously.

"We carry a message from our army's director, Zane Lowenstein," Hawkeye reports. "We have no intension of physically harming your camp, or anyone in it. We carry no weapons"

"And why should I believe the likes of you, boy? What about your ally in the skies?"

"He is there only to provide backup, in the unlikely case that things get out of hand," Hawkeye calls, speaking of Kodiak. "And as to how you can trust us. . . You can't."

Underwood whispers something to Jackson, and I read his lips. "At least they're telling the truth about that."

Chiron gives Underwood a glance, and then calls out to Hawkeye again. "What is this message you have been instructed to give us?"

Hawkeye's silver eye glitters. "Allow us to approach, and we'll show you," he says, motioning over his shoulder at the wooden box Mokkan carries.

The centaur frowns and exchanges a glance with Jackson, who shakes his head vigorously. Di Angelo, however, is staring at the box, apparently riveted. His friends notice, and Underwood puts a hand on his shoulder, giving the son of Hades a questioning look. Nico Di Angelo, still unable to tear his eyes from the box, says something to Chiron, shielding his mouth with his hand.

Chiron pales slightly, and Jackson looks from Di Angelo to the centaur and back again, obviously not yet making a connection.

"Very well, boy. You may approach," Chiron calls down to us, and we start up the hill with measured steps.

The demigods at the pine tree draw their weapons defensively as we ascend the hill, and I can feel many, many arrows and knives aimed at my face and chest, ready to be released at the slightest breath of attack. Being unarmed and in human form, in this particular situation, makes my skin crawl, and I glance sideways at Hawkeye. He shows no sign of strain though, looking straight up at Chiron quite confidently. Unlike me, he always did work better under pressure.

The three of us approach until we are a mere three feet from the border. We are so close that I could probably reach out and poke Jackson in the eye, were I willing to take the risk. The tension is thick, and there is dead silence as we halt in front of Jackson.

"Well?" Chiron asks us wearily, his eyes never leaving Hawkeye's face. "What is this message?"

Hawkeye gives Mokkan and me a silent nod, and I stick my white truce flag into the soil and help Mokkan detach himself from the box he drags, the heavy silence magnifying every sound we make times ten. Together, the hellhound and I push the box right up against the border. Mokkan backs off, and I stand beside it, one hand on the latch, waiting Hawkeye's signal.

Hawkeye glances briefly upward at Kodiak, alerting him that he might be needed soon. Mokkan tenses up, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Behind the demigods on the other side of the border, Mrs. O' Leary whines loudly, tucking her tail between her legs. Nico Di Angelo stares at the box with an odd look on his face. Chiron looks at Di Angelo, who nods once.

"This message is for all of you, but we think that Jackson will find it most meaningful." Hakeye says. He motions to me. "If you please."

Grinning widely, I unclip the latch on the box, throw the lid open, and tip it on it's side, sending the contents rolling out at Jackson's feet.

Underwood's girlfriend screams shrilly as Jackson stares uncomprehendingly down at the carcass of Annabeth Chase.


	13. Chapter 13

**Woo hoo! The last couple chapters have been fun to write, and nobody seems to hate me! Yet. This story isn't over, and who knows what else I can do. . . Anyways, thank you so much to all my reviewers (delvio! lookin' at you, bro. Your reviews always make me laugh!) and SuzieQluvsU, for your spectaular observations on how I can better Christine's story. Girl, if you're still not pleased with this after chap. 13, drop me a line with suggestions, if you feel like it. Nothin' better than a bit of critique one in a while. Seriously. And that goes for the rest of you too! The only thing I WILL NOT DO UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES is bring Annabeth back. Thank gods nobody seems too torched about that, but if Percy wants a happy ending, he can very well go get his butt down to Hades and save her himself. AFTER my story has finished. :) So anyway, do continue!**

Ch. 13

When we planned it out, we knew that it was risky. We knew that we were messing with people who had the potential to be a whole lot more powerful than us. And we knew we would get a very strong, very immediate reaction, and that being so close to the border put us in the direct line of fire. I knew, when Zane outlined the plan, that it was another one of those possibly suicidal missions that I always seemed to get involved in, one way or another.

But we didn't know what would happen. Zane had a theory of course, as one would expect, but nobody really knew for sure how the demigods would react.

It was better than I ever could have imagined.

After an endless moment of stunned, horrified silence, broken only by Underwood's girlfriend who shrieked like a banshee, the entire place practically exploded. Jackson falls to his knees beside the body, too shocked to respond, blown far past the point of tears. Chiron swells with rage, and wilts with grief at the same time, unslinging his bow from his shoulder, swiftly drawing an arrow. Mrs. O' Leary throws back her head and howls as all around her, fury strikes the demigods into a swelling rage.

Of course, I don't see any of this. I had instantly dropped the wooden box containing the carcass and high-tailed it out of there with Mokkan and Hawkeye on my heels, kicking up dust and clumps of grass in my wake as we push ourselves away from the madness.

Behind us, it takes probably six seconds, tops, for the demigods to pursue. "Split up," Hawkeye hisses at Mokkan and me as we hit the bottom of the hill, glancing back over his shoulder at Mrs. O' Leary, who is in the lead. "Mokkan, head for Broadway, try to shake 'em off; Christine and I'll meet you at the Lincoln Tunnel." He signals to Kodiak, who still hovers about twenty feet above our heads, and the mutant boy wheels off in the direction of Broadway to back up Mokkan.

Mokkan nods once before bounding off, and Hawkeye drags me off in the opposite direction. "Where are we going?" I ask him, casting a glance back at our pursuers.

"Doesn't matter, as long as we lose that lot," Hawkeye hisses. "I thought you were good at spontaneous decision-making. You've screwed us with that before; why can't you use it when it's actually needed?"

"Oh, bite me," I snap back, but let him take the lead anyway.

We burst out onto a highway, sending vehicles careening off as they avoid us and shoving pedestrians out of the way as we race down the packed streets, crammed with people on their lunch break from work. From what I can tell from the commotion behind us, Mrs. O' Leary, Clarisse the Drakon Hypnotizer, and one of the Stoll brothers are giving direct chase, and I notice a satyr and several other demigods pushing through the crowd after them. Tyson the cyclops and some of the others must have gone off after Mokkan and Kodiak. Jackson and Chiron probably stayed back at the camp, with the body.

"Heads up!" I yell to Hawkeye, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him down as a knife whizzes by over his head, thrown with telltale accuracy by Clarisse the Drakon Slicer.

Hawkeye leaps gracefully back to his feet with a panted "Thanks", pushing aside a young woman with a baby stroller, and we dart off down a long alleyway. Mrs. O' Leary and the demigods stay right on our heels until they approach the mouth of the alley, when Clarisse the Drakon Queen throws out an arm, halting Mrs. O' Leary and Travis Stoll. "Stay here!" she orders gruffly, her eyes searching the shadows of the alley.

That's when the temperature drops about twenty degrees. Outside of the alley things go on as usual, but all around me the concrete becomes cold and dark, shadows dancing on the dumpsters like living creatures, every reflection of light off of an aluminum can or shard of broken glass reminding me of eyes, watching us from the gloom. Discomfort crawls up my spine like ice, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Hawkeye stiffens beside me, his silver eye glowing brightly in the darkness, and he slows to a jog, looking wearily around. It is so silent that every footstep echoes, every breath we take magnified. Then without warning he grabs my hand and takes off down the alley for all he's worth, dragging me after him despite the fact that I can run about four times faster than he can.

"What in Ha--"

"Get out of here," he hisses at me. "_Run._ Now."

Now, I know from experience that when Hawkeye tells you to run, you do so, and freaking fast, dude. It either means that he plans on kicking your ass and wants to give you a running start just so you have a fair chance to live, or he knows that something very very terrible is about to happen, and even he doesn't think you can fight it.

I'm guessing the latter.

I hate running from a fight, but this time I take Hawkeye's advice and grudgingly make a break for it, with Hawkeye on my heels. But not quite fast enough.

Just before I break out of the alley and back into the packed streets, cold hands yank me sideways, off my feet and into the grip of a shadow. I yelp and struggle savagely as Nico Di Angelo melts from the darkness and wraps me up against the dark brick wall, balancing his black stygian blade delicately against my neck. I fight for several seconds, but his powers weaken me, rendering me useless.

We both turn to look at Hawkeye as Mrs. O' Leary and the demigods enter the alley, approaching from behind, and Hawkeye stares back, crouched on the ground like a large cat. He knows what he has to do. He needs to follow his own advice and get the Hades out of here.

He knows better to stay, but can't help hesitating, unwilling to leave me. He could try to fight Di Angelo, of course, but even without Clarisse the Drakon Eater and the others to join the battle against him, the demon and the son of the death god are perfectly matched in terms of strength, wits, and just about everything else. Hawkeye's just a ton more evil, and older.

Di Angelo digs his stygian blade against my neck, and it's so sharp that it takes me a moment to register the pain that signals I've been cut. I feel a trickle of warm blood run down my neck, and twitch involuntarily. Di Angelo presses me harder against the wall and I bare my teeth at him, but don't struggle.

Hawkeye bites his lip, torn by his desire to live and our old connections. Mrs. O' Leary bounds up and screeches to a halt beside us, kicking up dust in her wake, making the decision for him. He looks away from me and takes a step back.

"Sorry," he whispers to me, his voice so quiet it's barely audible. Then he turns on his heel and vanishes around the corner, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel, and leaving me alone.

Travis Stoll runs to the edge of the alley, looking in the direction Hawkeye disappeared. "Should we follow him?" he asks Clarisse the Drakon Tamer.

"No, let him go," the daughter of Ares says, turning her attention to me. "I think this is the one we want. Right, Mrs. O' Leary?"

The hellhound leans over Di Angelo and sticks her nose in my face, sniffing me. She gives the girl a look.

The daughter of Ares shoos Di Angelo off to one side, although he keeps his black sword pressed into my neck. She regards me for a moment, and then uses the tip of her spear to lift the hem of my filthy white tank top.

Just enough to see the ugly black scar left on my side by the demigod girl on the rooftop, the night I was captured.

Di Angelo and Mrs. O' Leary exchange a darkly triumphant glance, and Clarisse the Drakon Dictator smirks at me, stepping up so her nose is inches from mine, blowing my red hair from my eyes with her breath. "Looks like we found our Wolfy, huh?" she says quietly. "You couldn't hide forever. You're gonna pay for this. For all this, Wolfy. I'll see to it myself, if I have to."

I stare up at her for a second, and she glares down, both of us swelled with hatred for the other. She towers probably four inches above my head, and weighs at least twice what I do. So I spit into her face.

She takes a step back from me with a yell, teeth gritted in fury, and brings the handle of her spear crashing painfully onto my skull, sending my collapsing sideways into Di Angelo before I black out.

Aw, shit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey everybody! So, this is chapter 14! No real action in this chap, we're mostly just getting our bearings here, lots of talking (sorry. We'll kick butt next chap) and setting up some conflict. The Hunters are here, by the way! Yay! More people to be mean to! And SuzieQluvsU, I promise, I will not kill Thalia. Also, I'm brainstorming for the next PJO fic I'm going to write. It's going to be a story or a series of oneshots in sequential order about Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth before they were found by Grover and taken to Camp Half-Blood. I'll write shots or include situations about anything and everything, angsty, Thuke (Slight! I don't do fluff), fights, randomness, etc. I'm not going to start it untill I'm done with Christine's story because I don't work on more than two fics at a time (the other one I'm working on right now is The Killing Queen, based on the Hunger Games books. If you read the Hunger Games, check it out!), but if you have any L/T/A moment you want me to include in my upcoming fic, drop me a line and I'll see if I can fit it in. Anyways, keep reading, and review!**

Ch. 14

Percy Jackson wants me dead. That's all I know.

The demigods had totally cut me off from the outside world, trapping me in the basement of the Big House and posting guards at the door twenty-four-seven. I heard nothing, knew nothing, saw nothing that happened outside that door.

So, all I knew was that I was on Jackson's dirt list, and I could probably have come up with that by myself without being told by Chiron one day as he gave me my daily meal. They're feeding me down here, thank the Titans, so I must be needed for something before they let Jackson rip me up.

I don't really know how long I've been here, or what time of the day it is, since the basement has no windows and is usually plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the crack beneath the door. I'm suspecting about a week, since I've been fed four times since I regained consciousness and am incredibly stiff. I've tried to wheedle it out of Chiron, who is the only one who will feed me, but he keeps a tight lip. Apparently just because he can stand being in the same room with me doesn't mean he's willing to talk.

So I have nothing better to do than stew for hours at a time, and pace the dark room. I've explored every corner, crack, and crevasse of my little prison, and there's no way to escape unless I feel like dismantling a concrete wall and digging myself a tunnel to China, or breaking down the door only to be jumped, knocked out, and tossed back in. (I tried it too, and it didn't work. I've got the scar to prove it.) I guess the demigods finally figured out that dog crates aren't effective enough, and only make me mad.

I wonder if Hawkeye, Mokkan, and Kodiak make it back to the Rebel camp. I'm assuming they did—nobody can outrun Mokkan, Kodiak can fly, and Hawkeye had been let off the hook after I had been captured.

Hawkeye. I really was going to kill him if I got out of this alive. I mean he, he freaking _left_ me! For all he knew, I could have been killed the moment he disappeared around the corner. And he _still_ ditched me. I've had several days to contemplate why he would leave me to die, but quickly decided not to think about it too much until—and if—I see him again.

After all, I probably would have done the same thing to him. But that's off-subject.

I was going to kill him anyway.

Another thing I was worried about was how the demigods would react to us killing Chase, other than running me down. Would they attack the Rebel camp? What did they want me for anyway? Hopefully they were smarter than to try to use me as a hostage, since Zane wouldn't bother to give them anything just to save my skin. All that would do was earn me a public execution in front of both armies, probably. So what else would they want to keep me around for? Revenge for killing Chase? If that's what they wanted, they could just give me to Jackson. To keep me cooped up in here for years to rot away into dust? Well, _that_ was shallow minded and completely pointless.

My questions were answered on what I guessed to be my seventh day in the basement. Lost in my own thoughts as I curl up in the corner of the dark room in wolf form, I don't notice the commotion outside the door until it is thrown wide open, blinding me with bright light.

Chiron steps into the room, his bow and arrows at the ready. "Don't you try anything," he tells me firmly, which I translate as "don't look at me the wrong way, or I'll send an arrow through your skull."

Okay.

Chiron steps to one side, and several others enter the room. Jackson and Nico Di Angelo scowl down at me, followed by a tall girl several years younger than them who I recognize, but can't put a name to. She has black hair cut in layers and chopped off at her shoulders and bright blue eyes, with a silver band perched on her brow. She wears a silver coat and jeans, and a sheath of arrows slung over her back.

In front of her however, stands a little girl. No, not a girl. A god.

I gasp at the sight of Artemis and press myself back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between myself and the Goddess of the Hunt. I hate all the gods, but have a grudge against this goddess and her brother in particular, for what they did to my mother and me.

My reaction does not go unnoticed by Chiron and the demigods. Jackson's eyes narrow, and the girl with the headband crosses her arms and cocks an eyebrow.

"What's this all about, Chiron?" she asks the centaur. "I've never seen that beast before."

Artemis holds up a hand to quiet the girl. "Silence, Thalia," she scolds. "Chiron, please explain how you came by this animal." Her sharp eyes sear into my skin as I stare at her. I can tell by the look on her face that she suspects who I am.

"This creature has been around for quite a while," Chiron says levelly, watching me carefully. "I first saw her several years ago, when she was hunting one of our satyrs. Then she joined the Titan's army a little while before the war began, and we believe that she worked undercover for Kronos himself, but that's never been proven. Then she was seen again at the Battle of the Labyrinth, fighting with the Titan army, and on board the _Princess Andromeda _when Percy so helpfully destroyed it. Nico, also, had a run-in with her during the final battle for Olympus. Now just recently, with the uprising of what's left of Kronos's army, she's been around a lot. We captured her a couple of weeks ago, but she escaped, taking the Golden Fleece with her. That's why our borders are so weak."

My mind is reeling. How did these creeps find out so much about me? Have they really been keeping tabs on me all these years? Do they know that Artemis did this to me, or is it just coincidence that she's here?

_There are no such thing as coincidences_, part of me whispers. _Everything happens for a reason_.

Artemis frowns at me. "How did you capture her?"

"We trapped her in an alley, a little over a week ago," Chiron says. "She and some accomplices were delivering the body of Miss Chase back to us, apparently under the orders of the captain of their organization."

At the mention of Annabeth Chase, the atmosphere of the room changes. The Hunter girl, Thalia, makes a small noise in the back of her throat and looks at me with a new hatred. Jackson's eyes darken. Chiron and Di Angelo wipe their faces pointedly clean of all emotion. I, of course, can't help but grin at the acknowledgment of my spectacular crime.

Thalia glares at me over Di Angelo's shoulder, her eyes burning with grief and hatred. "I say we kill it," she spits out. "If it's a prisoner, and it's allies don't care if they get it back or not, it's of no use to us."

"Thank you," Jackson mutters under his breath, obviously glad to finally find someone other than Clarisse the Drakon Slaughterer that agrees with him.

"We've considered that," Chiron says, "but I thought that Artemis would like to have a say in her fate, since she created the beast."

"_What?_" Thalia asks the goddess. "If you created it, why did it turn against you?"

Artemis continues to watch me as I cower against the wall. "I only created the monster, Thalia, not the girl that it has consumed. The beast's mother, Marie Jacobson, became one of my Hunters, many years ago when she was seeking refuge from my brother, who had taken a shine to her. After a decade or two, she betrayed me by falling in love with a mortal man," the goddess explains calmly. "So I cursed her unborn child, which is the beast you see before you today. I later heard that the child had indeed been born, and that my brother had killed off Marie and her lover. But I have not heard of Marie or her child again until today."

Thalia scowls. "And you never guessed that the kid would turn against you?" she asks as respectfully as possible, although it's obvious that she's scornful.

Artemis bows her head. "I admit, I made a mistake by cursing the child. I had trusted Marie completely and was deeply hurt by her betrayal, and it caused me to behave drastically. To be truthful, I had almost forgotten about the curse."

Chiron nods understandingly. "You wouldn't happen to know the name of the beast, would you my lady?"

Artemis shakes her head. "Marie's family name was Jacobson, and I do not know the name of the father. I assume it's mother would have named it before she died, but I do not know what that name is. Or if the beast took it's mother or father's last name."

I suppress a sigh of relief. These people know my past and my abilities, but at least they don't know my name.

Jackson speaks for the first time. "So what are we going to do with it?" he asks Chiron.

The centaur looks to Artemis. "With lady Artemis here, I do believe that we might be able to wheedle some information out of her. The least we could do is try to get her to tell us where the Golden Fleece has been hidden, before we risk lives organizing a quest to locate it, or another possible way to replenish the borders."

The goddess nods again. "Not today though," she says. "We have some other business we must attend to before dealing with the beast." She gives Chiron a significant look, and he gets the message.

"Nico," the centaur says, "go find the Clarisse and the others. We're calling a council of war to discuss how to parry the Rebel's latest move."

The group recognizes this as a dismissal, and they file out of my prison, heading back up to the floor level of the Big House. Chiron is the last to leave. He gives me an odd look that I can't interpret before he slams and locks the door, leaving me in the darkness once more.

After several minutes of silence, I pry myself off the wall, realizing that I haven't moved once, not even a twitch, since Artemis entered the room. The fact that she's here in Camp Half-Blood, fighting my friends in the Rebel camp, infuriates me. What business does she have around here? She needs to go disappear into the woods in Canada somewhere and just stay there, and take her stupid stuck up Hunters with her.

I leap to my feet and start pacing furiously back and forth in the darkness. What did Chiron mean, "the Rebel's latest move"? Had Zane done something else since I had been captured, or were they talking about us murdering Chase? Zane had referred to the murder as "our move," so that could be what they were discussing. But from what I had gathered from the conversation, I had been here for over a week. If they were going to get the Rebels back for Chase, wouldn't they have done it already?

Unless they were planning something huge. Maybe that's why Artemis had showed up with her Hunters. The demigods' plan may have caught her attention, or they had asked for her assistance.

So what would they need the goddess's help for? For backup, more people to fight the Rebels, or more power? Were they going to attack our camp? If they did attack the Rebel camp again, they would probably be a whole lot more successful than they had been on their mission to retrieve Chase, because they would know what they were up against and would be out to kill, rather than retrieve.

Finally I just flop down on the cold floor with a sigh. Why did I care? I was stuck here in a basement, with nobody trying to get me out, just like the first time I had been captured. Except this time, I couldn't save myself. It was possible to bust down the door again, but I would just be knocked out once more and thrown back into the basement. It was like going in circles, like being stuck on one of those hamster wheels. No matter how many times I tried to move forward, I ended up right where I began, like I didn't move at all. And eventually Artemis would come back from her business, and they'd try to get information out of me, and then they'd give me to Jackson or that Hunter girl, who I remembered had been close to Chase.

I close my eyes, absorbing the comforting coolness of the concrete floor, and drift into sleep.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Chrissy!"

Something sharp prods me in the shoulder, making me stir.

"Christine Savage, wake the Hades up! Ya sleep like a rock, dearie."

My eyes flicker open, but all I see is the darkness. "What. . .?"

Someone sighs exasperatedly. "Be'ind ya, Chrissy. Gud lordy, what did these 'ere demigods do to ya?"

I crank my head around, and meet a pair of big golden eyes with no pupils, seemingly floating in the air, not attached to anything. "Charlie!"

Charlie X the mutant runner holds a long black finger to his lips. "Shush up, Chrissy. There's guards outside the door still, ya know."

I sit up stiffly, looking happily at the mutant. Charlie appears almost invisible in the darkness, nothing but a pair of eerily floating golden eyes and the occasional flash of pristine white teeth as he grins at me. "How did you get in here?" I whisper.

He sits back on his haunches and wraps his tail around is back paws, scratching his nose with a long finger. "Tricks o' the trade, ya know, Chrissy," he says quietly, winking slyly at me. "My only prob'lm was that there magikal border, but seein' how you got rid o' that fer me last time you was 'ere, I got in nice 'n' easy. Takes more than concrete to keep me out of somethin'."

I can't help but grin at him. "So what's going on at camp?" I ask eagerly.

Charlie shakes his head. "Lot's o' stuff, Chrissy. Yer 'Awkeye made it back to camp with Mokkan and the creepy kid with them wings. Zane 'ad a fit when they told 'im you was captured again; never seen 'im so off in me life. He's getting attached to ya, Chrissy. Jus' bout killed 'im to wait so long to send me, but ya know, didn't want to get caught and all. We didn't even know where they was keepin' ya for a long time. When we couldn't locate ya out in the open, we started wonderin' if they'd gone on and killed ya and we'd jus' missed it."

"Okay, but what are you planning? Have the demigods attacked you yet?"

Charlie cocks his head to one side, flicking his ears. "Nah, not yet, anyways. Zane thinks they may be plannin' somethin' like that, though. 'Ave you 'eard anything down 'ere?"

I sigh. "No. I didn't have anybody around here except the centaur until today. Artemis and her Hunters are in town now, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't," Charlie frowns. "When did they get 'ere?"

"I don't know. I just saw Artemis for the first time a little while ago."

"Zane won't like this," Charlie mutters. "That means they prob'ly are plannin' an attack o' some sorts."

"Probably. Anything else new?"

Charlie gives me a wry grin. "We're tryin' to find a way to get you outta 'ere, Chrissy. We 'ad to leave ya to yerself the first time ya got caught, but we can't do that this time. Apparently we's learnin' some loyalty these days. . . kinda fright'nin, eh?"

I nod agreement. "So how are you going to bust me out?"

Charlie frowns. "Haven't gotten that far yet, Chrissy. We jus' figured out ya was in the basement last night. We're getting' there though. Don't--"

He freezes. "'Eads up," he hisses at me. "I'll be back sometime, Chrissy. 'Ang in there." With that, he closes his eyes, disappearing completely, blending into the darkness. After several seconds without seeing him moving, I hesitantly poke a paw out where he had been. But there's nothing there. Charlie had disappeared.

Just then the door bursts open, and Chiron and a boy demigod appear in the doorway. The boy narrows his eyes. "She was talking to someone Chiron, I swear I heard her," he insists.

Before Chiron can reply, I snarl at them. "What, can't I talk to myself?" I ask. "It's not _my _fault I've been cooped up in here for a week."

Chiron frowns, not buying it, but decides there's no use arguing. He grabs the arm of the demigod without a word and drags him back out the door, locking it behind him.

I stay still for several seconds to make sure he won't suddenly burst back in, but he doesn't, so I resume pacing. I was heartened by Charlies visit. The Rebel camp hadn't forgotten about me yet. Artemis threw a wrench in the plan of course, whatever the plan was. I really didn't know what Zane and the others were going to do to get back at Camp Half-Blood. Our original intentions had been to weaken and possibly destroy the godling camp, but what were we up to now? Wipe out the demigods? Kill Jackson? I didn't know.

But whatever it was, it wouldn't be pretty. Fun maybe, but not pretty.


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, so here is chapter 15! yay! Thank you to all my amazing reviewers and readers who follow my story! This chapter was fun to write (heh-heh. I'm evil) and hopefully will eliminate Christine's _slight _Mary Sueness. Andway, review and tell me what you think! **

Ch. 15

Several days passed. I'm not entirely sure how many since, in revenge for raising suspicion about someone else in the basement with me, Chiron refused to feed me at all. I just know that I sat alone in the darkness for a lot longer than was good for my mental state, because by the time Charlie bothered to show up again, I was feeling giddy yet unappreciated, with a hint of suicidal depression thrown in there somewhere. I had also invented a pack of invisible cockroaches that mocked me as I paced the room.

"Whoa, Chrissy," the mutant says, materializing quite suddenly from the darkness and scaring me witless. "Are ya okay, love? Lookin' a little green 'round the gills, ya are."

I leap to my paws and topple back, my tail tucked between my legs, smothering down a yelp of surprise as Charlie's pupil-less golden eyes appear beside me, disembodied from the rest of him, which is invisible in the darkness. "Don't _do_ that," I grumble, staggering to my paws only to collapse again, squashing an imaginary cockroach.

The mutant blinks. "Sorry, Chrissy. Have to get in 'ere some'ow, don't I? Anyways, are ya alright?"

I sit up and look at him. "What do you mean? I'm fine." Unfortunately, I hadn't noticed at that point that one of my eyes was opened wider than the other, and that I was twitching rapidly.

Charlie gives me an odd look. "Wha'ever ya say, Chrissy. But we're gonna get ya out o' here sometime soon. Zane's got a plan, or so 'e says."

I perk up. "Really?"

"Ya bet on it, girlie. See, tomorra' mornin', Artemis and them godlings plan on questinin' ya 'bout the Golden Fleece, and wha'ever else tickles their fancy. Prob'ly 'bout our army and our numbers an' wha' kind o' powers and such we gots under our control. Anyways, I don't know 'zactly what's gonna happen, but Zane wants ya to be co'operative when they come to get ya, but don't tell 'em anything. Got that?"

"Be cooperative when they come to get me in the morning, but don't give them direct answers no matter what," I say. "Got it. Speaking of time, what is it now?"

"It was a lit'le after ten 'o clock at night when I left camp to come 'ere," Charlie says, "so I'd guess 'bout ten thirty—forty-five, maybe. It's been three days since I've been here last. Why, don't they feed ya no more?"

I blink at him. "Does it _look _like they feed me?" I ask. "Hey, shut up, stupid," I add to a cockroach, which was laughing at me.

Charlie takes several steps back. I can tell that he's now convinced that I'm officially off my rocker. Maybe I am. "We really gotta get ya out o' 'ere, Chrissy," he says after a second.

I give a scornful snort. "You think? I've been talking to imaginary cockroaches, Charlie. I've even bothered to name them."

There is a glimmer of white as the mutant grins at me, flashing his sharp little teeth. He laughs softly. "No worries, Chrissy. You jus' make sure you don't fight the godlin's when they take ya out o' here. And really, try not to goad Artemis inta' blasting ya to bits." He winks a gold eye at me. "See ya soon," he sings before closing his eyes and vanishing altogether from the room.

I stare at the spot where he disappeared for a little while. But before too long, I begin to here squeaky laughter in my head. "Oh good gods, will you go the Hades away!," I snap at the cockroaches that don't really exist.

* * *

Sure enough, after several long hours of pacing the basement and conducting fevered arguments with my cockroaches, the door bursts suddenly open with a loud bang, flooding my prison with early morning light for the first time in days. I wince and turn my head away from the brightness until my eyes can adjust.

Chiron the centaur and Artemis are silhouetted against the doorway, with Jackson and the Hunter girl with the black hair and the silver headband standing just behind them. Jackson's half-brother the cyclops looms further back, nearer to the stairs.

"Would you be so kind as to come with us, eh. . . _miss_?" Chiron says with forced politeness.

I remember Charlie's advise: Don't fight the godlings. Well, that was easy for him to say. I'd take any one of these bozos on any day. But then again, I'm starving and half-crazy, and up against a cyclops, two kids of the Big three—possibly three if Di Angelo is slinking around out there where I can't see him—a centaur, and a goddess.

You know, maybe I will come quietly, since I really do want to survive this experience.

After several moments of hesitation, I tentatively creep from my corner. When I am not immediately jumped on and blasted to bits, I gain some of confidence and stand up straighter, meeting the eyes of my captors levelly. I notice triumphantly that my cockroach friends seem to have vanished in the presence of light.

"Come along, please," Chiron says stiffly, stepping to one side and trotting up the stairs to the main level of the Big House, Tyson the cyclops on his heels. I'm surprised that I'm not drugged, or tied up at the very least. It seems to me that the demigods are almost daring me to try to make a run for it. I'm guessing, by the look on Jackson's face as he watches me wearily approach the doorway, that that is exactly what he wants. After all, that would give him an excuse to kill me, as long as Artemis didn't get me first.

I'm sorely tempted to run, and the goddess can tell. She cocks an eyebrow challengingly at me as I pad over to the doorway and pause only a moment before stepping out for the first time in way over a week. I stand motionlessly for a second or two, half expecting Jackson or Artemis to suddenly change their minds about letting me live and stabbing me or something spectacular like that. But, fortunately for me, they reign themselves in, and I am allowed to mount the stairs, flanked on either side by powerful godlings.

I expect to be lead to some kind of metal-walled interrogation room or something similar to that, like, tied to a chair and questioned through a microphone while the demigods watch through a glass window. Instead, I am ushered into a windowless but otherwise pleasant little well-lit room, with a large rectangular table in the middle and chairs.

"You are welcome to sit down, miss," Chiron says to me, lowering himself into his magical wheelchair as he says so and taking his place at the table.

I, unsurprisingly, choose to remain standing. Artemis pulls up a chair herself and perches lightly on the edge, while her lieutenant stands over her, looking protective and more than a little peeved. Jackson lurches to the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The cyclops steps silently into the room last, slamming the door behind him. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he flips a large and very complicated lock, encasing us in the little room.

By this time, I'm sweating slightly and running over my conversation with Charlie in my head. _Zane's got a plan_, he had said. _I don't know 'zactly what's gonna happen, but Zane want's ya to be co'operative. . ._ Well, he'd better have a plan! I was bottled up in a windowless room with a goddess about to question me on topics I may or may not be able to answer, awaiting some stroke of genius and bravery from unknown outside forces that would bust me out of here. What would these creeps do to me when this little session was over? Kill me? Give me to Jackson? Did Artemis herself have some complicated and painful plan on how to get rid of me? I had no idea, and I really hoped I would never find out.

When everyone has settled down, Chiron clears his throat. "Now, miss. . ." he addresses me ('miss' seems to have become my temporary name, with the lack of them knowing my real one. Well, it's better than 'beast' or 'animal,' eh?) "You'll have to forgive us for the informality—you see, we're not accustomed to having. . . prisoners."

He sounds like 'prisoner' is not quite the word that he wanted to use, but could not find any other way to say it.

I bare my fangs at him. "Don't mention it. You've made up for it with the fabulous basement," I hiss.

Jackson sniggers, catching my attention. My head whirls around to look at him, and I stiffen up. Tyson the cyclops and the Hunter girl make to lunge for me, but Artemis whips up a hand and they snap back, as if they are on leashes. I narrow my eyes at Jackson, and he stares frostily back, his sea green eyes boring into mine. After a moment, I plop down casually on my haunches, wrapping my tail around my paws. "So, Percy Jackson," I say with a slight smirk, "have you found a girlfriend yet? That last one you had was a good catch—too bad she got a little too close to the wrong people." I wink nastily at him, enjoying myself immensely. "Pity Hades has her now, isn't it? You're friend Di Angelo could probably do something about that I bet, that is, if he doesn't want her for himself. I wouldn't blame him, you know. She was a pretty little thing, before we got a hold of her."

"Percy. . ." Chiron warns quietly. At the door, the cyclops is glaring daggers at me, gnashing his teeth. The Hunter girl is plucking at the string on her bow. You can almost see the smoke coming out of her ears. Jackson however, seems to have shrunk slightly at the mention of Annabeth Chase. His eyes have darkened considerably, never leaving my own, and his hand drifts to the pocket of his jeans where I know his sword is kept while in pen form.

Chiron holds up his hands. "Let's just. . . settle down, now," he says calmly. "Percy, I will evict you from the room," he warns, "and that goes for the rest of you too." The centaur folds his hands in his lap, but the atmosphere of the room doesn't lighten. "Now, miss, we'll start simple," he says to me.

I raise an eyebrow.

Artemis takes over. "There have been multiple reports of you being heard in conversation with someone," the goddess says civilly. "Would you care to tell us who has managed to find a way into the basement, twice now?"

I cock my head to one side. "Aren't I allowed to have imaginary friends?" I ask innocently. "Two weeks of being cooped up in a basement like that, on minimal food, it's no wonder I haven't been feeling myself lately. Ask the cockroaches." Well, it wasn't a total lie. Not that I have any qualms at all about spinning white lies. I'm good at that.

Artemis stares me down. "I've also sensed the presence of another being in that room with you."

Okay, what? After half a moment of wondering how she can do that and why she uses such correct English, I smirk. "You apparently don't know what I'm capable of." There. Let them try to figure out what that means. And then they can tell me, because I don't know either.

Artemis does no more than exchange a look with Chiron. "I see."

The centaur frowns at me. "What are you willing to tell us about the location of the Golden Fleece, which you managed to confiscate from us the last time you were here?" he ventures.

I snort. "Absolutely nothing. Besides, I don't know where it is now anyway—I just stole it, I didn't hide it. Look, don't I get like, a phone call or something? Or just a drink would be nice too, you know. Licking condensation off the walls every morning just doesn't meet my needs."

Once again, Artemis and Chiron exchange a glance. "Did you by any chance dump the Fleece into the Hudson?" the centaur asks.

I grin wickedly. "As a matter of fact I did. It's not there anymore though, sorry."

Artemis sighs. "She tells the truth," the goddess confirms. "I checked myself, when I began to suspect. But the Fleece was long gone. They've hidden it again."

"Would she know where it is?" Chiron asks the goddess, ignoring me.

"Probably not. Only this Zane, as he calls himself, and possibly one or two of the highest ranking of their soldiers would know where it is hidden. This beast probably doesn't fall into that category."

Chiron begins to ask the goddess something else, but I am suddenly distracted. My head snaps up of it's own account, my ears perking as a muffled but familiar noise drifts to my ears from the other side of the wall, wherever that was. Before I can focus on it however, I catch myself and quickly wipe my face clean of expression once more, hoping nobody had noticed.

Unfortunately, most of them had. Artemis and Chiron go silent, and Tyson the cyclops tilts his head to one side, listening for the same noise that had caught my attention. For a moment there is nothing, but then I catch it again; A soft ticking sound, followed by an occasional beep, in the wall. Also, so faint through the thick walls of the room, I hear the sound of voices yelling, celestial bronze clashing against steel, roars. . . combat.

I leap to my paws, grinning from ear to ear. Kronos bless Charlie the mutant, wherever he was right now, and whoever else was about to blast down the wall. Without a trifle of doubt, I throw myself to the floor, several moments faster than the demigods, and cover my head with my paws. Probably two seconds later, there is a loud buzz, like the bomb is gearing itself up, followed by a _bang_ that blows out the entire left wall.

I leap up, laughing like a lunatic as bits of rubble rain down on me and morning daylight, the likes of which I haven't seen in weeks, floods through the smoke and the dust that hazes that air. Behind me, I hear Jackson splutter and cough as he hauls himself to his feet, swearing heatedly in ancient Greek. Artemis and the Hunter girl have already extracted each other from the destroyed room and thrown themselves out into the battle raging in Camp Half-Blood. I bound over a pile of rubble, under which Chiron the centaur is feebly stirring, and out into the fresh air, inhaling deeply.

"Hi, Chrissy!"

I shake vigorously, getting the stiffness out of my muscles. "Hey, Charlie." I grin at the mutant. "Thanks for busting my out of there. What's going on?"

Charlie nods at the pandemonium that wreaks the camp. "The border fell, Chrissy!" he exclaims happily, shaking droplets of blood from who-knows-where off his claws. "The Gold'n Fleece's been gone fer so long, we managed to push through. Zane planned out a full-scale attack on this here camp, an' it seems to be workin' eh? Ery'one's here somewheres; Io jus' ran by, I think, and yer 'Awkeye's down settin' fire to the cabins again."

I shake my head, impressed. "How did you do it?" I ask, beginning to feel like myself again.

Charlie shrugs. "Dunno. Wasn't planned out real well, that much I knows. . . musta been luck, eh? We've had our fair share o' that so far, thank Titans. So now we're just waitin' to be pushed back by the godlin's, or for Zane to call a retreat."

I nod, watching a nearby demigod pursue a telekhine towards the border. Charlie notices the glint in my eye, and slaps me on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, Chrissy—I'll see ya 'round." With that, he whoops loudly scampers off in the direction of the sword arena, chasing down a tree nymph.

I stare after him for a moment, then follow his good advice and take off after the demigod, stretching out my muscles, sore from lack of use. I'm still starving and horribly weak and underfed, but my freedom has fueled me enough to compensate for the lack of physical fitness.

I easily close in on the demigod. She doesn't see me coming up behind her until it's too late, and I'm inches from crashing into her back. We hit the grass, rolling backwards down Half-Blood Hill and sending clumps of soil and bits of gore up in our wake (I have no sympathy for these jerks now—I don't care if the bodies I rip up are recognizable or not). We take out a satyr as we go, knocking him over and sending him sprawling into the maw of a hellhound.

Back at the bottom of the hill, I drop the carcass and haul myself into standing position, taking stock of my surroundings. The heart of the action seems to be taking place down at the sword arena, where there are the most people and explosions. Out in the strawberry fields, one of our Hyperborean giants is stepping on satyrs, squashing them flat, while back at the pegasi stables, the Sphinx and several telekhines have busted down a wall or two, sending the terrified animals scattering. Near the edge of the forest, with smoke from the burning cabins wafting through the trees, our hellhounds are hunting the tree nymphs, taking our three or four at a time as they catch the creatures in their gigantic jaws.

But we're losing soldiers, too. The Hunters of Artemis are freaking maniacs with those knives they carry, and dead shots with their bows and arrows. They have a menagerie of white animals at their command also, creatures such as timber wolves and cougars, with glittering, snowy white pelts that seem to carry stardust in their fur. And Artemis herself, of course, is wreaking havoc on our numbers, fighting back to back with her lieutenant Thalia, taking out telekhines and mutants left and right. Mrs. O' Leary is engaged in combat with another hellhound, probably Mokkan or Katrina, and Tyson the cyclops is wrestling one of our giants. High above our heads, the camp's harpies are attacking another dark flying figure which I recognize after a moment, and with a tiny anxious tightening in my chest, as Kodiak.

After a moment's consideration I take off towards the sword arena, dipping between duels and avoiding occasional arrows from the Hunters as I bound for the battle. Smoke from the burning cabins chokes the fighters as they battle each other, staining the sword arena red.

I immediately spot Hawkeye and Zane; Hawkeye and Nico Di Angelo are at each others throats right in the center of the arena, a circle having been cleared around them to give them space. Zane is taking on anything that gets in his way; he has a spear in one hand and half of a broken sword in another, with a demigod dangling from his arm and a tree nymph wrapped around his neck. He doggedly battles Clarisse the Drakon Charmer while a group of satyrs prance around him, playing riffs on their pipes as they attempt, unsuccessfully, to transform him into a plant of some kind.

Damian grins as he catches sight of me from across the battle, and we fight our way to each other. I morph into human when we meet up and press my back against his, braining a passing demigod and borrowing his sword. "How you doing, man?" I call over to my shoulder at the one-eyed boy.

I feel him shrug against my back as he uses his bow to choke a satyr. "Pretty good, thanks for asking. How about you? Charlie told us that the basement they were keeping you in wasn't helping your mental state."

"Are you kidding? I was terrified I'd never be normal again. I was talking to imaginary cockroaches, for Kronos's sake!" I exclaim as I fend off an attack from a demigod, wincing slightly as he slips beneath my arm and lands a shallow slash across my cheek.

Damian laughs darkly. "Cockroaches, Christine?" he asks, clearly amused.

"Oh, shut up," I snap, wiping blood from my jaw. "I just know that there's one part of this camp you won't catch me in for a while. Charlie blew out a wall though—that helps, of course."

Damian catches the wrist of a demigod as they make to bring a long stiletto knife down on his neck, wrenching the weapon away from the demigod and burying the blade deep into the shoulder of another. "Split!" he yells at me, lunging to the side as an arrow from one of the Hunters whizzes past my head.

I roll away from him and into the crowd, pushing aside a tree nymph beating on the head of a telekhine with a stick and slamming her into the dirt to get trampled by a giant scorpion. The same giant scorpion, I realize, that helped me burn down the cabins last time there was a battle here. He must recognize me too, because he pauses for a minute to study me before tossing himself back onto the satyr he had been disassembling.

A Hunter of Artemis chooses that moment to leap onto my back, and I morph into wolf beneath her, making her loose her grip and slide off. She's back on her feet in a moment though, and we both soon carry injuries inflicted by the other. Finally I shove my way past her bow and make a snap at her ankles. My teeth find her left foot and I yank back hard, throwing her off balance and sending her toppling into the dust, where I quickly finish her off.

And then, high above us, one of the Hyperborean giants howls as several harpies attack his face, scratching and stabbing out his eyes despite his attempts to fight them off. Mrs. O' Leary the hellhound streaks up and throws herself forward, crashing into the giant's knees. Both hellhound and giant topple over, making the earth shake as they hit the ground, destroying everything beneath them. A mutant staggers by, dragging his useless, maimed leg behind him as he races for the safety of the other side of the border. Up on Half-Blood Hill, the Sphinx is being brutally attacked by Tyson the cyclops.

We're being beaten back. Whether it's from the demigods determination, or if we're just not focused, I can't tell, but I also notice that we're slightly outnumbered. Jackson has joined the fight now too, which can't be helping the least bit.

I leap onto a demigod and slam his face into the ground before being sent rolling as a small bomb of Greek fire explode near my head, deafening me. When I leap to my feet again, I find myself beside Zane, who has managed to shake off Clarisse the Drakon Destroyer.

"Savage!" he yells at me. "You get out of there all right?" he asks, clearly referring to the basement of the Big House.

"Yeah, thanks," I pant, snapping at a tree nymph as she skitters by with a satyr. "We're losing the battle though."

Zane nods as he draws a small knife from his belt. It sings through the air as he launches it at a demigod, and the boy falls, the blade hilt protruding from between his shoulder blades. "I know," he says. "I'm waiting for Hawkeye."

"To do what?" I ask indignantly as I dodge a sword and tackle one of the Hunters' glittery white timber wolves.

"He has a score to settle with a certain son of Hades," Zane explains.

"Yeah, well, he'd better hurry up," I mutter, pinning the timber wolf beneath me and sinking my teeth into it's neck.

That's when the rumbling started. I lift my head from the bloody mess of the timber wolf and perk my ears, trying to pinpoint the sound, but it seems to be coming from everywhere. A telekhine on the other side of the arena is the first to discover the source. "Retreat!" he yells, as a wall of blue sea water rises above the trees, drenching everything in it's wake.

I swear loudly, breaking away from the battle. Jackson did this during the Battle of the Labyrinth too, when the forest had been set afire. Not only did it put out the fire, but it drowned a lot of our own soldiers. This time, the wave is at least twice as big.

The wall of water roars like a living thing as it envelops the camp, and before I really know what has happened, it bears down on the fighters in the arena. The ice cold water comes as a shock after the heat and intensity of the battle, sweeping across the land. For several long, oddly silent seconds, all is silent, peaceful almost, beneath the surface of the sea wave. My breath is ripped from my throat by the sudden change in surroundings and I'm swept off my paws for a brief amount of time, carried along by the current.

Just as fast as the wave arrived, it passes, sweeping over Half-Blood Hill and shrinking out of existence as Jackson let's it go. The entire camp is left drenched and badly out of shape, and the Rebels begin a very undignified retreat for the other side of the border, swarming across the soggy grass.

I shake myself off and try to take stock of my surroundings from where I am. The wave carried me about fifteen yards closer to the hill, and there are Rebels scattered everywhere. The good thing is that the water messed up the demigods just as much as it did us, and they aren't making a very impressive attempt to run us out. Jackson alone seems to be in condition to majorly kick butt; he's making short work of any Rebel that drifts within his grasp.

But then he spots me.

You can almost see the change come over him as, from his sleeve, he draws a long slender knife. I don't need to be close to him to know what he plans on doing, and there's no way to escape it. I have nothing to hide behind, no trees, no buildings—nothing but a straight stretch of grass between me and the border.

I turn and run for it, knowing that my unnatural speed is my only chance of survival. If I can just get across the border. . . I think as I push myself for all I'm worth. But I'm not quite fast enough.

His strength enhanced by the Achilles curse, I hear the blade whistle as it heads for me, the same way Zane's did not long before. I can't outrun it.

I wince at the sound of the blade hitting flesh, and am knocked forward by a dark furry shape. I close my eyes as I roll along the grass, expecting to be dead.

But I'm not. There isn't even any pain.

I sit up and blink. There's blood, I can smell it. . . but it's not mine.

I gasp as realization hits me, and whirl to look back down the hill. About halfway down, crumpled and small in death, lies Charlie X, the mutant runner, the handle of Jackson's knife sticking out of the side of his skull. He had taken the knife for me. For the first time in my entire life, someone had sacrificed something important to them, something huge, for me. Charlie had killed himself so that I could live.

Realization of this, that someone has died so that I could live, renders me immobile. I stand there on the soaking wet grass, staring at the skinny black body, unable to move as Rebels streak by me for the safety of the border.

Charlie had bothered, no, Charlie had _cared _enough, to do that for me. To die. For me. On purpose.

"Christine, what are you doing? Come _on_!" Io, my roommate, yells as she screeches to a halt beside me. She roughly grabs the scruff of my neck and hauls me around, half dragging me for the border with the last of the Rebels.

Her touch jolts me out of my shock, and I take her advice and continue to dash for the border. We make it across uninterrupted, but right before I cross, I turn to look back down the hill at the little black body with the knife handle growing from it's head, and pain explodes inside me, unbidden, unwelcome. But there.

And I turn away to escape with the rest of the surviving Rebels, leaving behind me Charlie X, the mutant runner.


	16. Chapter 16

**Woohoo! Character deaths! I hated killing Charlie; his accent was so much fun to write : .( Ah well! So here would be chapter 16, in all it's glory. We're starting to near the end of this story (OK, so we're not _that _close, but you get what I'm trying to say) so I kinda have to start setting up for the final battle/finalie/going-out-with-a-bang thing. Anyway, please review if you like!**

**Oh, I haven't had a disclaimer in, like, ever have I? Huh. Well then, here we go: **

**Disclaimer: Do not own PJO, or the expression "Holy Hera's Cow," which originally belongs to Mr. Rick Riordan. I got it off his blog :)**

Ch. 16

"Okay, so let me get this straight. You want to begin picking off the demigods, right?"

"Yes."

"And you want to do that by organizing a guerrilla-style combat. . . whatever-it's-called—_force_ to do so, made up of the best hit-and-run soldiers you can get your hands on. Right?"

"That's right."

"And we're completely ignoring the fact that those frigging demigods have a goddess on their side, and Jackson is out to get me. And they have the Hunters, who are almost as good of a shot as Damian. And a cyclops."

"We have giants, and _dracaenae_."

"Giants and _dracaenae_ suck at stealth, and couldn't run to save their lives."

"Whatever. Keep going."

"So, after we have magically avoided Artemis and her Hunters, and Jackson, and the cyclops, and the son of Hades who could detonate us all with a blink of his eye, and Clarisse the Drakon Mauler, and their pet dragon at the pine tree, and—shut up, Hawkeye—so after we have gotten around their defenses, and cut down some of their campers, we somehow get ourselves back out of the camp again without getting killed or captured. Considering the demigods don't attack us before we're organized enough to do this. _That's_ the brilliant master plan?"

Zane frowns at me. "Do you have a problem with the brilliant master plan?"

I snort. "Hell no! I'm just, you know, wondering how you figure this is going to work. The only thing this plan has going for it at the moment is that the demigods have no border. Speaking of that, why can't we just go in and overrun them? Force them out?"

Hawkeye sighs, giving me his you-are-so-stupid look. "Christine, we can't do that because if we all-out attacked them right now, chances are they'd win. We have the numbers, but they have a whole lot more power than we do, with Artemis and the children of the Big Three. All it would take is one good temper, and they'd wipe half of us out. If we'd attacked them earlier, we probably could have run them out, yes, but they had a border then so we couldn't get in."

I hold up my hands in resignation, blowing hair out of my eyes. "Fine! So, when do you plan on executing this no-fail scheme of yours?"

"Tomorrow night, probably," Zane says. "I say it's been long enough since the battle—four days already."

"We'll announce who'll be going later today," Hawkeye tells me. "Probably just mutants and some of our demigods."

"Suit yourself," I say, turning to stalk out of Zane's tent. "But tell me when you two come up with a plan that doesn't involve an insane amount of sheer luck and some crazy, suicidal break-in mission. There comes a point where even _I_ get sick of almost killing myself."

Hawkeye mutters something under his breath that I decide to ignore, stomping out of the tent and out into the morning sunlight. Predak waddles around the corner of the tent with a huge nasty grin on his face, and I know he's been eavesdropping again.

"Well, what do you think of that plan?" I ask him as we walk through camp.

The telekhine shrugs. "Doesn't sound any wilder than anything else we've tried lately. Besides, the master plan has a tendency to change every other day, so I'm not worried. It'll work out."

"Yeah well, you tell me that when you're dead," I retort.

Predak gives me an odd look. "Still thinking about Charlie, are we?" he asks.

"No," I say. Total lie. "I just think that we could have planned this out better. And Artemis is openly fighting us now. You know how tight-strung I get when she's around."

The telekhine has nothing to say to that. No god has ever done him any personal wrong like Artemis did when she cursed me, so he isn't really entitled to an opinion. So he just nods, and we walk along in silence.

This is the fourth day after the battle at Camp Half-Blood, where I had been rescued from my basement. We've been spotting demigods crawling all over the place for the past day or two, so just about everyone is under major amounts of stress. This results in lots of fights among our own soldiers, which only mounts the tension even more. I know that Zane and Hawkeye are anticipating some sort of attack from the godlings sometime soon, but they can't do much about it because nobody knows what they have planned. We've been sending runners out almost every day to haunt Camp Half-Blood in search of information, but a lot of them don't come back, and the ones that do have nothing good to report. So we have no choice but to go about planning attacks as if nothing was hanging over our heads, unable to do anything other than tell each other to keep our eyes open for any sign of attack and not to sleep too soundly.

Another thing that has been bothering me is Charlie's death. I don't know why it affected me so much, but the runner's sacrifice for me had really hit home. Maybe it was because I had never known anyone who would do that for me. I had lived almost my entire life on the gritty New York City streets, fighting for no one but myself, unable to make a friend without expecting them to double-cross me or stabbing them in the back myself. There was certainly nobody that _I _would die for. Hawkeye could go fall off a cliff for all I cared, Zane too, and Predak, Mokkan, and Katrina weren't worth dying for either. I hadn't personally known Kodiak long enough to decide what I thought of him yet. Damian? Maybe if he hadn't ticked me off lately, and depending on my mood at the time. But probably not. Nobody else even came close.

"Looks like my crew busted into the mall again," Predak says proudly as we approach the community bonfire at the center of camp. "They're getting good at that. I'm going to take Ziral with me on a raid one of these days; he's one clever kid, you know."

The fire has attracted quite a crowd, and the fact that Predak's telekhine gang had broken into the mall and stolen all kinds of highly edible things certainly helped. From what I knew, the telekhines were a huge hit among the ranks, always supplying the soldiers with something to pass the time. Usually it was just food, but they would also steal just about anything else for you if you paid them enough. For example, Zane kept up constant trade with them, exchanging credit card numbers and stuff for ammunition for the night guard, so the telekhines could hack into the bank accounts of unsuspecting mortals and the Rebel camp stayed well-armed.

Predak gets a round of applause and rowdy hoots as he takes his place at the fire between Damian and his right-hand telekhine, a female named Silvamord. As leader of the telekhine criminals, Predak got most of the credit for the loot, and was therefore a respected figure among the common soldiers who had nothing better to do than get drunk and eat his food. Silvamord got a lot of respect too, but she was not quite as well liked as Predak and his Hades-may-care attitude for some reason.

"Hello, Christine," Kodiak greets me as I sit down between him and Fiona, the cannibalistic little girl.

"Hey Kodiak," I sigh.

"So what did Hawkeye and Zane want?" the mutant asks me, ruffling his big black bat wings.

I roll my eyes. "They're just outlining their latest suicide mission to me," I say exasperatedly. "Some junk about hit-and-run operations that require you to be either incredibly lucky, or incredibly stupid."

"You should be good at that," he comments thoughtfully, and I whack him.

Fiona has gotten herself a raw steak, which she chews on contentedly as she listens to Kodiak and me talk. Blood drips off her chin as she gnaws off a strip of the meat with a horrific ripping sound, her filed teeth stained a grotesque maroon color and flickering in the faint firelight.

"And what about you Fiona?" I ask her after a few s'mores. "What have you been eating lately?"

She leaves off mangling her steak long enough to make a high-pitched, squeaking laugh that would totally creep out anyone in their right mind, and her classic Cheshire cat smirk.

Kodiak gives her a distasteful look over my shoulder. "Whatever you do," he tells me, "don't ask her where that missing _empousa_ went. She won't give you a straight answer."

I wrinkle my nose at the girl. "You ate one of our _empousa_?"

Fiona just shrugs and licks blood off her fingers. Not that I really need her to answer. I can totally justify her for eating an _empousa_; she-demons are annoying. "Good for you," I tell her.

Kodiak shakes his head. "You two are gross."

I stare at him. "What, you mean you hadn't noticed?"

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was only after several hours of sitting around the campfire with the others, passing the time by roasting food and playfully insulting each other, that I began to suspect trouble. At first I figured that I was just being paranoid—well, more paranoid than usual—but the third time that my skin prickled, the way it always did when I was being watched, I began to get suspicious.

Whirling around, I turned to see nothing behind me but a _dracaenae_ and several hellhounds fighting to the death over a package of Doritos, and a young demigod that Zane had picked up a few weeks ago sitting at the entrance to a tent, sharpening his sword, just like the first two times. So far I had seen nothing that would suggest danger, I just felt like I was being spied on.

"What?" Kodiak asks me, turning to follow my gaze.

I shake my head. "Nothing," I mutter. "Maybe. . . Never mind. It's nothing."

But when I notice Hawkeye striding through camp, sword drawn, on the guard for a fight, I knew it was a whole lot more than nothing. I elbow Kodiak in the ribs. "There," I say. "Hawkeye felt it too."

We watch him as he disappears around the corner of a tent and out of sight, heading for the edge of camp. "What _is_ your problem?" Kodiak asks again, and this time Fiona leans in to hear me talk.

"I don't know what it is," I whisper, glancing nervously around. "I just feel like there's someone watching me. Something. . . I don't know. Something made it's way into the camp I bet."

Kodiak nods, my anxiety rubbing off on him. Fiona goes back to shredding up her fifth steak in the last hour, but I can see that she's a bit more tense than she was before. Several minutes later, Zane appears behind us, wearing that same distracted look that Hawkeye had. I meet his eyes, and he blinks meaningfully at me before stalking off in the direction Hawkeye had gone.

"C'mon," I mutter to Kodiak, getting up from my spot by the fire as casually as possible. "There's someone here."

I feel Damian watching me and give him a pointed look as I dust myself off, stalling for time. He and Predak know me well enough to figure out that I'm trying to tell them something. Predak nudges Silvamord, alerting her to a disturbance, and Damian whispers something to Mokkan, who is laying beside him.

Kodiak stands up beside me, stretching his wings powerfully and sending the young demigod that had been sharpening his sword scuttling fearfully away. We start off after Zane and Hawkeye, but before we have even left the clearing, something reaches my ears. I put a hand on Kodiak's shoulder, making him pause.

For a moment I don't hear anything, and I begin to wonder if I had imagined it. But then: _beep. . . beep. . . beep. . ._

Kodiak hears it now too. "No way," he whispers, swiveling his head from side to side as he tried to pinpoint the telltale beeping of a Greek fire bomb.

Now, traditional Greek fire bombs don't beep, but some of those Hephaestus godlings had been experimenting with the demolitions supplies in the last couple of months after the war ended, and had majorly updated them. Now the modernized bombs had over twice the force and fire packed into a simple shell, usually disguised as a common household object. The only side-effect was that they beeped upon activation, which, let me tell you, I am incredibly thankful for.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice the demigod that had sat at the entrance to the tent for so long, sharpening his sword. He's walking away from us, but even from behind I can see how tense he is. "It's in the tent," I hiss at Kodiak, just as the beeping speeds up to double time, _beep, beep, beep, beep—_

"EVERYBODY DOWN!" I howl for all I'm worth, throwing myself onto the concrete and rolling away from the tent, morphing into wolf form. I squeeze my eyes shut as an electrical crackle sounds through the air, followed by an eruption of bright green light. The sound of the explosion travels several seconds slower than the light and the debris, so by the time the supersonic-worthy crash blows out my eardrums, I've already been propelled fifty feet across the camp and had all the fur fried off my left flank and my tail set on fire as loose, smoking slabs of pavement skip across the ground like small self-commanded missiles.

For several seconds, all I can do is lay there on the concrete, trying to get my bearings as the echoes of the explosion die away. My burnt flank doesn't hurt yet, but I know it will soon, as will my tail, which is still smoldering. I can't hear anything other than an odd, distant buzzing in my ears, and my own heartbeat hammering in my chest.

I haul myself into an awkward sitting position. "Holy Hera's Cow," I croak as I catch sight of the destruction that the bomb had wreaked. There's a considerable sized crater in the ground where it had gone off, and the pavement around it is stained black. Pebbles of destroyed concrete are scattered a hundred feet in every direction, and shreds of charred and burning tent material swirl through the air like a rainstorm from Hades. A sizable mushroom cloud of black smoke hovers above the crater.

Not too far to my left, Damian is flicking bits of concrete off himself and coughing up a storm, and Predak and Silvamord are extracting themselves from the smoking wreckage of a tent. Mokkan, who had managed to outrun the explosion, is shaking flakes of dust from his black fur. Nearer to the crater lies the charred carcass of another hellhound, burnt down to little more than a skeleton. Several telekhines can be found in a similar state, along with what might have been an _empousa_. Kodiak and Fiona are nowhere to be seen.

That's when I notice the white timber wolf. Very much like the ones the Hunters of Artemis keep as pets. It bounds across the clearing, gracefully leaping the smoking crater and running for the edge of the Rebel camp. Mokkan spots it too, and I watch as he leaps over my head and takes off in pursuit of the sparkly little bugger.

Dragging myself painfully to my paws, I am wracked by a fit of coughing. Every noise I hear is muffled, like I'm listening from the bottom of a fish tank, and echoes sightly in my ears. My head spins rapidly, but I force myself to my feet. Something was happening here. I wasn't sure quite what it was yet, but I knew that we had been caught off guard.

That bomb. . . what if it had only been a distraction? Or a signal, maybe.

A signal.

I'm up on my paws and staggering off in the direction Mokkan and the white timber wolf had taken, the same direction Hawkeye and Zane had been going only minutes before. They had been waiting for the godlings to make a move, hadn't they? I was willing to bet this was it.

My head clears as I run, and my hearing slowly begins to return. Weaving through the maze of tents as I bolt for the edge of camp, I keep an eye out for the enemy. There's a fight going on up ahead; I can hear it, and the smell of blood hits my nose.

I burst from the final row of tents—and am immediately sent rolling by an attack from a huge white wolf, almost as big as me. He pounces on my side and body-slams me into the ground, scratching at my burnt flank with his back claws. For a moment I can't fight back, taken off guard by the suddenness of the attack and still not recovered from the bomb, but then pain from my flank cuts through the last of the fogginess and I strike a hit. I swing a paw around and nail the timber wolf on the side of the neck, snapping it sideways and knocking the beast off my side. Rolling to my paws, I jump on his back and hang on for dear life as he spirals around, searching for a way to dislodge me. See, the thing about these wolves is that they may look like me, but they're highly lacking in my human intelligence.

Finally, in a fit of frustration, the timber wolf slams himself up against a brick wall. I allow myself to slide off his back, landing on my paws. I easily pin the wolf up against the wall and rip out his throat.

Free of my distraction, I try to figure out what the demigods are up to. Not far from me, another Greek fire bomb has taken out a giant, blowing a hole in his chest the size of a small truck and sending him toppling over. Hawkeye is engaged in furious battle with Thalia, the lieutenant Hunter herself. He seems to be winning until the girl suddenly lowers her knife and delivers him a karate kick in the chest, sending him reeling backward into a tent. Jackson and Zane are a lot further away, squaring off against each other with their swords. I can hear Zane cursing like a sailor as Jackson lands a blow, even from here.

Way off on the other side of camp, a warning signal goes up from the guard over there too, and I realize that we are surrounded.

Io finds me. She's lost her sword sometime during the battle, but is good enough of a fist fighter to hold her own. "Christine!" she yells, punching a satyr in the nose. "What are they up to?"

I catch the satyr as he falls, sinking my teeth into his neck. "I have no idea. We're totally surrounded, but they don't seem to want to enter the camp," I say, spitting out a fang.

"Did they set off the bomb in the camp too?" Io pants.

I stick out a paw to trip a Hunter as she staggers by, and pounce on her. "Yeah," I say, "they planted a spy. One of those puny little demigods, I think."

"Did he—"

She's interrupted when Tyson the cyclops throws himself between us, shoving me backward off the Hunter and sending Io rolling.

The cyclops grabs my neck in his huge hands before I can twist out of his reach, and wrenches my head to an excruciating angle. I yelp and struggle wildly, flailing violently about in vain attempt to extract myself from his grasp. Just as I begin to black out, my claws find one of his wrists, and in a final attempt to free myself, I rip into his skin as hard as I can. Blood from the cyclops's wrist gushes out, soaking both me and him. He roars in pain and flings me for all he's worth, throwing me an insane distance.

I hit the ground with a thump, my neck aching, my burnt skin searing, a horrific headache crashing into my skull. For a moment it's all I can do not to pass out, but then the sensation passes and I once more drag myself to my paws.

I find that I am quite a ways away from the battle. Looking at it from this angle, I can see that the Rebels are being pushed back into the camp, instead of outward. From what I can see, we are definitely losing the battle; the carcasses of our own Rebels laying on the sidewalks far outnumber those of the godlings.

Shaking myself off, I begin to slink back towards the fray when a soft hiss whistles through the air. Acting on instinct, I throw myself backwards again as one of the Hunter's silver arrows lodges itself into the concrete right where I had been standing. Looking up, I see that Hunters and godling archers have dominated the rooftops of nearby buildings, keeping whatever strays out of the battle and into the streets at bay. Growling to myself, I once again try to regain entrance to the battle, and am once again am nearly skewered on a long silver arrow.

Instead I bound several blocks to the left, hoping that I can get out of range of the archers, but it's useless. No matter where I try to get in, it's covered by people I can't fight. I could, of course, try charging in regardless of the arrows and hope to Hades that they miss, but even I'm not that stupid. Hunters never miss.

Blocked from the fight, I have no choice but to watch as the Rebels are pushed further and further back into the camp, away from the edges. And it's then, as I watch Katrina the hellhound turn tail and flee from Travis and Connor Stoll, that I realize what they're doing.

They're both splitting up the ranks, and holing most of the Rebels up. Every entrance to the camp is guarded and unable to be breached unless you felt like turning yourself into a pincushion. Many of the Rebels are now trapped inside their own camp, and others—because I'm sure there are more Rebels than just me who fell out of the border—are stuck outside, on the streets.


	17. Chapter 17

**Alrighty, so here's Chapter 17! Sorry it's been, like, two weeks since I updated. . . was constantly battling writer's block all week, and it really threw a wrench in my progress! Anyway, I decided that we needed to learn a little bit more about Io Grates in this chap., since she is the only character right now that I can gaurantee you will live long enough to see the end of this story (along with Thalia. I haven't forgotten, I promise!). So, thank you to all my fantastic readers, and please review! Enjoy!**

Ch. 17

By the time night has fallen, I am exhausted, soaking wet, and in a great deal of physical pain. By about midnight, I finally decide that I cannot take another step and collapse heavily into the shadows of an alley with a soft grunt.

I have no idea what I can do about the camp. I'm in no way powerful enough to get back into it by myself, especially in my present state, and I've seen no other Rebels all day. I'd spent the last five hours trying to find a break in the demigods' defenses, but with the delivery of my latest wound, it had been proven that infiltration was impossible. Once I had accepted the defeat and retreated back into Manhattan, I had decided that my next priority was to find something to eat so that I could keep my strength up. It was only after I had made a hasty, rather barbaric meal out of someone's pet cat that my injuries began to throb, and I found myself nearly passed out on the street.

Stretched out behind a dumpster, I lay in the darkness and watch the glimmer of passing headlights on the alley wall. It's raining again, which I find odd, since Ol' Zeus should be happy about his descendents' victory over the Rebel camp. The cold rain sprinkles lightly down, distorting the city lights and pooling in cracks in the pavement. The occasional late-night pedestrian scuttles by the brightly lit store windows, hoods pulled up and shoulders hunched as they hurry past me and disappear back into the rain.

After about of an hour of laying on the damp concrete and slipping in and out of painful consciousness, a set of footsteps different from those of the mortals comes to my attention. I immediately sense the presence of a creature with Greek blood in it's veins and hurriedly push myself up into sitting position, pressing myself further back into the shadows. However, the newcomer notices my presence.

"Christine Savage?"

I narrow my eyes, peeling myself wearily off the wall. "Silvamord?"

Predak's right-hand telekhine gives me a big grin, her eyes shining out from the gloom. "Christine! Thank the titans, you're the first Rebel I've seen since I got tossed out of the battle."

Silvamord looks as bad as I do, if not worse. She too has suffered from the Greek fire bomb, and supports an ugly pink burn on her sleek black side. She has a deep gash across the back of her head and a swollen eye. Her left flipper has been practically shredded, and she walks hunched over.

I wriggle out from behind the dumpster and peer down at her. "So what happened to you?"

She tries to shrug, but the action obviously pains her. "Same thing that happened to you, probably," she says. "A couple if those Hunter wolves got their teeth into me, drug me away from the battle. I managed to fight them off, but by then I was so far away from camp that I couldn't get back in. They've posted archers above every entrance to camp, you know. I spent all day trying to get back in, but all that got me was an arrow tip in my shoulder and six hours of my life wasted."

I nod. "I tried to get back in, too, but it's no use. They've got guards everywhere. So you say you haven't seen _anyone_ else from the camp?"

The telekhine bites her lip. "Well, I heard some commotion up on Broadway around ten 'o clock, but I wasn't fast enough to get there in time. It might have been a Rebel, but I don't know. Other than that, you're the first person I've seen. . ." She scowls. "There _has_ to be someone else, hasn't there? We probably just haven't run into them yet. The battle was only this morning, after all."

This shred of optimism isn't much, but at least it's something to cling to. "That's probably what's up," I agree. "Say," I ask, "you didn't happen to see Kodiak during the battle, did you?"

That's another thing that's been eating away at me since the battle. I was pretty confident that Damian, Mokkan, and Predak were alright; they had survived the Greek fire bomb. But I hadn't seen Kodiak, or Fiona for that matter, since right before the explosion when I hit the ground. Most likely I had no reason to worry, but it still nagged at me.

Silvamord shakes her head. "No, I didn't notice him. I saw Fiona though—she was taking taking a bite out of a satyr. If she made it through the explosion, I'm sure Kodiak wasn't too far away. They usually watch each others' backs in a fight."

I sigh. "You're right. I'm just a bit overloaded at the moment," I mutter, trying to stretch some of the stiffness out of my bones without upsetting my burnt leg.

"I know how that feels," the telekhine says. "So, do you have any idea what we do now, since we can't get into the camp?"

I think for a moment. "Well, what we need right now is help," I say. I look at the telekhine. "Get my drift?"

Silvamord gives me a classic telekhine grin, shifty and sly, full of sharp little teeth and evil intentions. "I've got nothing better to do," she says. "If you're up for a stroll around town, then be my guest."

Now, generally a cruise through Manhattan at one in the morning isn't advised, but Silvamord and I had no other choice, really. There were only two of us, and there was no way we could get into the camp by ourselves. Plus, there's safety in numbers and more people on guard for trouble when you have a group.

We started to comb the city, spiraling out from the spot where we found each other, usually trying to keep to the shadows but occasionally having to reveal ourselves to the nighttime traffic. Luckily I was still in wolf form, so both Silvamord and I appeared as stray dogs beneath the protection of the Mist. Meanwhile, the rain slowly wanes from a gentle shower to only the occasional large raindrop, then ceases altogether.

For quite a while we find nothing to indicate any supernatural activity, which really didn't surprise either of us. We weave in and out of traffic, cutting through dark side streets and over sidewalks as we work our way from road to road, neither of us talking much. Finally—and weather it was by instinct or pure luck that we noticed it I'll never know—an unexpected flurry of movement and the sound of several trash cans tipping over catches our attention.

I exchange a swift glance with Silvamord before we both begin to make our way towards the alley, blending into the shadows to the best of our abilities. As we approach, it doesn't take us long to work our what has happened. I immediately recognize the voice of the Hunter girl that has Io and a small group of telekhine pups, including Ziral, backed up against an alley wall: Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus. She and another Hunter with their white timber wolf have maneuvered Io and her telekhines into a dark corner, trapped between a wall, a large dumpster, and their enemies. Io appears to be putting up a good fight; she has a sword that she must have borrowed from a demigod that had no use for it anymore and has pushed Ziral and the four other pups behind her, putting herself between them and the Hunters.

The Hunters, not expecting to be snuck up on, have their backs turned to us and are absorbed in trying to break Io's concentration. Thalia's white timber wolf is without a doubt the biggest one I've seen so far; he's even bigger than I am, with glittery, glossy white fur and long muscular legs. The other Hunter girl is younger, with bleached blond hair and big brown eyes. She doesn't appear to be much of a threat, but then again, Thalia Grace usually chooses her company wisely, so I suspect that this girl must have some hidden ability that comes in useful during battle.

Io bares her teeth and jabs her sword at the timber wolf as he inches forward, driving the snarling canine back several feet. The wolf makes a frustrated noise in the back of it's throat and paces back and forth between the Hunters and the Rebels, staying just out of range of Io's blade.

Thalia Grace holds out her hand, touching the wolf lightly on his shoulder. "Be still, Remus," she tells him firmly, stepping around him to stand in front of Io. For a moment the Hunter and the woman stare at each other, then Io breaks.

"What do you want?" she hisses at Grace, her voice cracked and harsh from fatigue and hatred.

The girl unslings her bow from her shoulder, leaning casually on it. "Lower your weapons," she says calmly. "Do not fight us, and we won't hurt you, nor your friends." She gives Ziral and the other telekhine pups cowering behind Io a distasteful look.

Io gives a brittle, humorless laugh. "Do you know how many times I've heard that phrase, girl? 'We won't hurt you,' eh? You're just like your father, Thalia Grace, hard-headed and ignorant, can't see past the end of your nose, exactly like Zeus."

Grace's eyes narrow. "What do you know of my father, traitor?"

"More than I want to," Io snarls. "I was nothing more than a mortal, a normal woman with a normal life, before your father strutted into my world and did this to me. _I _didn't want _him_, he wanted _me_, and I was the one who suffered. _I_ was the one who was cursed for being drug unknowingly into this nightmare," she spits venomously, "_I_ was the one who was condemned to spending the rest of my life looking like a monster, and I didn't even do anything! And you, his own daughter, have the gall to stand there in front of me and preach about '_not hurting_?'"

Grace stands stock still, watching Io with weary eyes, taking in the dark horizontal scars across her face and the ram's horns sprouting from her skull amid her filthy, dark brown hair. "Queen Hera," the Hunter says, almost to herself.

Io's right eye twitches dangerously as she stares down Thalia Grace. "Yes, Hera, Queen of Heaven," she snarls. "She did this to me, for what her husband did. For something I had no say in, no idea whatsoever what I was getting myself into. And now I'm stuck here, in this pathetic excuse for a life, eating out of garbage cans and associating with the darkest, evilest bastards ever to roam Manhattan at night."

Silvamord and I are entranced from where we are concealed in the shadows. I've never head Io say so much in one breath, let alone so much about her past. I'd known that Zeus had fallen in love with her, and that Hera had punished her by inflicting the scars and horns, but everyone knew that. I'd never heard Io rant about it like this, and it seemed rather ironic that she finally unwound in the middle of a Manhattan alley at two in the morning, screaming at the daughter of Zeus herself, freaking out in front of two Hunters, a pack of telekhine pups, and Silvamord and me.

"Put down your weapons and come with us, and you won't have to live like that," Thalia says quietly. "We're not like you Rebels. We don't double-cross each other, or do horrible things to our enemies. You don't _have_ to eat off the streets, or associate with the crowd you do."

Io cackles madly. "See the lies your family feeds you, girl? The gods have bickered for millions and millions of years, taking out their angers on the children of their brothers and sisters, cursing and waging war on each other, playing with the lives of us mortals just to satisfy their whims. They don't _care_ Thalia Grace, don't you see? You demigods call us heartless, and maybe we are, but we aren't the only ones. I'll be no better off on your side of the tracks than mine; either way I'm doomed. I might as well have my fun before Hades gets me, mightn't I?"

Grace holds her bow in both hands, her eyes suddenly hard and cold. "That's a no to the offer to stand down then, is it?"

Io smirks nastily. "Just figured it out, did you?"

"Fine then, if that's how you want it." Fast as thought, Grace has an arrow strung on her bow and the string pulled as taunt as it will go, the missile aimed between Io's eyes. Behind Io, one of the telekhine pups whimpers fearfully.

I snap into action, Silvamord following me as I slip from the shadows and stand directly behind the Hunters and their timber wolf. It takes less than a second for Io and the pups to spot us over Grace's shoulder, and a big relieved grin breaks out on Ziral's doberman puppy features.

The Hunters whirl around, their bows strung taunt and ready to be fired. "You!" Thalia Grace exclaims, her eyes widening as she immediately recognizes me as the escaped prisoner, the one who delivered the body of Annabeth Chase to Camp Half-Blood.

"Surprise," I snarl, launching myself at her knees before she can gather her wits. I ram into her legs, and she fires an arrow from her bow before she hits the ground. I duck my head just in time, and the arrow hisses past over my ears and ricochets off the dumpster with a bang like a gunshot, leaving a dent in the thing the size of a wide screen television.

Beside me, Silvamord has taken on the timber wolf and Io is battling the other Hunter girl one-on-one. Ziral, taking over the role as leader of the telekhine pups, is ushering his friends behind another dumpster. I can see them out of the corner of my eye as they stick their heads out from around it, watching the fight eagerly.

I'm having my own problems at the moment though. Thalia Grace is strong, stronger than me, and just as fast. I've managed to wrench her bow from her grasp and toss it off into the gloom of the alley, but she doesn't need it anyway. She draws a long skinning knife from absolutely nowhere and rolls me over onto my back, pinning me to the ground with her hands and knees, holding the knife in her teeth. I kick out with my back legs, unsuccessfully at first, but then my claws land on her hip, slicing it deftly open and splashing the girl's red blood onto the concrete. She grunts with pain, and is distracted just enough for me to lurch to one side, throwing her off me.

She rolls swiftly back onto her feet and kneels down low to the ground, the knife in one hand, the other thrown out to her side for balance. I leap to my feet and dart forward, snapping at her heels as she flips backward out of my reach and my jaws come down on empty air. Grace takes advantage of my momentary surprise and comes in with her knife. I manage to avoid the worst of the damage, but the long blade still cuts a nice slice in my forearm, adding another wound to my steadily growing collection.

"Yo Io, heads up!" Silvamord calls out unexpectedly, her voice cracked as she pants heavily.

Io leaps to the side on instinct as the white timber wolf, which Silvamord had been fighting, staggers by and smashes head-on into the other Hunter girl, taking them both out for a moment. The timber wolf has taken on some serious facial rearrangement from Silvamord; his ears are ripped to ribbons and I can see flashes of white skull beneath the flaps of skin on his head that Silvamord has torn up. One of his eyes is gone completely, as are his lips, and the other eye is blinded by blood. His nose is twisted off to an unnatural angle, and his jaw hangs down limply, revealing many lost and broken teeth. No other part of his body carries so much as a scratch, but Silvamord has done more than enough to his once-pretty face with her pointy little teeth.

Thalia Grace pauses, torn between helping her friends and finishing our battle. I don't give her time to make a decision. "Get the pups!" I call, dashing over to the dumpster and picking the smallest of the telekhine pups up in my teeth. Io and Silvamord follow, each grabbing one of the weaker pups, leaping up onto the dumpster, and hauling themselves up onto the rooftops from there. Ziral and the remaining pup follow them, and I bring up the rear. Within ten seconds, we're out of the alley and bounding off across the top of the city, cackling at our lucky escape.

We've been running across the rooftops for about twenty minutes when Silvamord finally drops her pup and slumps down, gasping for breath. "That's it," she groans. "I'm not. . . going. . . any further."

I set my pup down. "This is as good a place to camp out as any," I say, sniffing around the empty rooftop. "I reckon we're pretty far from anybody who'd be out looking for us."

Io wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, counting up the telekhine pups. "Thanks for stepping in back there," she says to Silvamord and me, sprawling out on the roof, completely exhausted. "You guys are the first Rebels I've seen since—"

"Since the battle, yeah," I finish. "You'd think there would be more of us out here, but I guess the demigods did a pretty good job bottling everybody up."

Io nods. "I barely made it out, too," she says. "It was after that cyclops got a hold of you, Christine. Kodiak had gotten the—"

"Kodiak's alive?" I ask. "You saw him?"

"Yeah, I saw him. He had gotten Ziral and the pups out of camp, trying to get them away from the fighting. He found me pretty soon, asking if I knew if you'd survived the explosion. I told him that you'd been dragged off by the cyclops, and he managed to tell me that he'd sent the pups off in the direction of Broadway before that stupid Hades boy, Di Angelo, started blowing things up again and I lost track of him. It was right about then that I figured out what the demigods were up to, and decided that my best bet was to get out of camp. Well after I managed that I headed off too Broadway, hoping I'd manage to find the pups."

She stops talking long enough to look at the telekhines. They're all curled up around Ziral, who seems to have appointed himself leader, and rightfully so. Silvamord is asleep already, her eyelids twitching, still oozing blood from her numerous wounds.

"Say," I tell Io, "why don't you get to sleep. I'll be able to stay awake for another couple of hours, and I think we're pretty safe here. I'll wake you when something happens."

Io nods thankfully, brushing hair out of her eyes and laying out on the rooftop, still damp from the rain. Withing seconds, her breathing slows and her battered body relaxes as she drifts off.

I morph stiffly into human form, biting back a growl as my burnt leg screams in protest to the change. I limp over to one side of the roof and slump heavily down, letting my feet dangle off the edge of the building. I wonder how much more of this I can take. Silvamord, while still in fighting condition, is just as beat up as me, and Io is exhausted and emotionally stressed out. I can tell that her outburst about her past had really drained her, probably bringing back all sorts of old memories she didn't want to think about. That left me and a bunch of baby telekhines for protection if anything attacked. Not a very comforting thought.

I haven't been sitting guard for too long when I hear a sudden stirring behind me. Ziral extracts himself roughly from his friends and waddles in my direction. I can hear the urgency in his voice as he scrambles eagerly over to me. "Christine, Christine, Christine, Christine—"

I sigh. "Not now, Ziral. Go back to sleep."

"But, but, Christine—"

"Go to sleep, Ziral. You're going to need it."

"Oooh, but Christine, I—"

I flash him a warning look and he pauses briefly, but then plows on.

"Christine, I figured our a way that we can get more Rebels to help us fight!"

"What would that be?" I ask skeptically, not really expecting anything that might work.

"The portal guards."


	18. Chapter 18

**Okay, so I know that this chapter is not only long, but there isn't even much action. Not my usual style I know, but it was necessary. In this chapter, we tie up some loose ends, get the troops under control, and start gearing up for The End. Hey, and about that conversation between Christine and Io, I know it's a bit of a stretch, but gust go with me, alrighty? So, please review (I got like, one review last chapter, and then a couple haters) and tell me what you think! Enjoy.**

Ch. 18

The portal guards. Duh. Why hadn't I thought of that? Here I was, panicking about lack of soldiers and wondering how in Hades or Heaven we were going to ever find a way to match up against the demigods, and Ziral reminds me of the portal guards.

Granted there weren't as many people on portal guard as there had been; Portals 1 and 2 we no longer being used by the demigods so they didn't need to be watched, and Portal 5 was strategically placed so that we couldn't guard it without catching the attention of the mortals. However, Portals 3, 4, and 6 all had guards on them, five apiece, and that meant that we had fifteen extra people that hadn't been caught in the Rebel camp, and probably didn't even know that something was wrong.

I hadn't thought much about the portal guards since I had been one myself. That wasn't my objective any more, and nothing exciting had happened to any of them since my capture and the battle on the rooftop over Portal 2. They had gone on just as Zane had planned, changing their members every two weeks, battling the new incoming demigods and their satyrs, occasionally losing someone to the fights or the mortal police. You would hear a portal guard tale around a camp fire once in a while, but other than that, they were rarely mentioned back at camp, and so I never thought much about them. And now here I was, depending on them to help us survive.

"Where's Portal 6, Christine?" Ziral asks me curiously, bouncing along at my side as we make our way across Manhattan.

"It's in a suburb area," I tell him. "Like, with houses and stuff instead of just stores and company buildings."

"Do mortals live there?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Don't the mortal police know that they're there, then?" the telekhine asks me.

I don't answer for a moment as we skitter across a highway. When we're safely on the other side, I answer him. "They have their suspicions, I'd guess. But nobody's been arrested yet, so they must not know for sure."

"What about the other two portals? 3 and 4?"

"Portal 3 is down by Broadway, in the basement of some old theater or something that they don't use anymore, and Portal 4 is up in the Bronx. I've never seen it."

We cut through an alley and emerge onto a pretty little street, full of identical white houses flanked with perfectly manicured grass and tall white fences. Children's toys are scattered here and there on the unnaturally green grass, but at the moment, they are abandoned. It's an early Monday afternoon, the day after picking up Io and the telekhines, so it'll be a few hours before the mortal kids get out of school and their parents get off work.

I pick my way around a small pink tricycle on the sidewalk, uncomfortable and self-conscious walking around in broad daylight here in this clean, bright, open suburb, so unlike the darkly forbidding streets on which I was raised. Luckily there's nobody around to see Ziral and me other than a small terrier tied up on his front porch, who peeks curiously out from between the railing to stare at us.

Ziral cocks an eyebrow as he sniffs the pink tricycle, unimpressed. "So where's this portal?" he asks me, waddling to catch up.

"I don't know," I admit. "But it shouldn't be too hard to find. There's only so many places here that an entire patrol of Rebels could hide out. We're bound to find it before too long."

"Is it on this street?"

"Either this one or the next one," I say. "Now shut up and keep your eyes open before someone notices us."

"But there's nobody here!"

I sigh. "You never know," I growl. "Besides, under the Mist we look like dogs. What would some mortal think if they walked around the corner and found a couple of stray street dogs having a conversation?"

"Would we have to kill them?" Ziral asks eagerly.

"Probably. Now shut up."

We continue down the street, slightly intimidated by the normality of it all. It's so peaceful that I keep expecting something to leap out from behind a garage and try to slit my throat. Still, there's no sign of any out-of-the-ordinary activity, and my paranoia grows. I wonder if Io, who I had sent to find the portal down in Broadway, is having any more luck than us.

Ziral and I work our way to the end of the street and then turn on to the next one, watching intensely for the slightest hint of supernatural activity. Halfway down this second street, Ziral nudges me silently with his flipper and points with his nose to one of the houses. I peer at it for a second, immediately picking up on it's difference from the rest of this pleasant suburb street. The space between this house and the one on it's right is much narrower than that of the other houses, only about four feet, creating a dark, narrow alley that goes about fifteen feet before hitting a dead end at a tall white fence. Unattractive brown weeds grow from the hard dirt in this crevasse between the houses, and no sunlight hits the ground.

"There's our portal," I murmur to the telekhine pup, veering off the sidewalk and across one of the manicured lawns to the miniature alley with Ziral in my wake. Standing at the mouth of the alley, I morph painfully into human form and place a hand wearily on the corner of the house. The smell of Rebels and blood of all types lingers in the air: monster, human, demigod, satyr, mutant. Much of the dirt on the ground appears to have been disturbed, and some of the weeds are dug up.

I pad silently into the alley, taking one slow step after another. Ziral hesitates at the entrance, his lips drawn back to reveal sharp little telekhine teeth. For several seconds there is silence, broken only when the rapid thump of footsteps from someone running on the roof of one of the houses comes to our attention.

Before I can react, a dark shape falls from the roof of the house on the left and lands behind me, sending Ziral reeling back with a surprised yelp. The sharp prickle of a spear point on my back makes me freeze.

"Who are you?" The voice is high-pitched and female.

"We're from the Rebel camp," I tell the _empousa_ behind me. "We have information."

"So Zane sent you?" the _empousa_ demands. I still can't see her, and I don't dare to turn my head to try to look at her properly. _Empousa_, when they feel they are under a threat, are incredibly unpredictable and jumpy, and she'd most likely run me through on the spot.

"Not exactly. . ."

The spear point jabs viciously into my back, dangerously close to drawing blood. "Then why are you here?"

"The Rebel camp is under siege," I say, trying to glance behind me without freaking out the _empousa_. "We need your help to get it back."

There are several long seconds of silence. The spear bites into my skin, and I feel a trickle of blood run down my back. Above me the other four members of the Portal 6 guard, two hellhounds, a _dracaenae_, and another _empousa_, stare silently down over the edge of the two houses.

Finally the spear point is removed from my back, and I turn around. The _empousa_ that stares fiercely back at me is slightly older than some of the other _empousa_ I've seen. She appears more of a woman, whereas most of the other _empousa_ look like teenage girls. I get the feeling that she's considerably more powerful than her younger sisters. In addition, she has a glistening mane of auburn curls that cascade down her back to her waist, and brilliant blue eyes. Her face is thin and pale but still quite beautiful despite the thin pink scar that runs horizontally from her right temple, across her eyes and the bridge of her nose, and disappears beneath the curls on the other side of her head.

"What do you mean, the camp is _under siege_?" she spits at me, stabbing the dirt with her spear as Ziral creeps wearily around her to stand beside me. "And who are you?"

I hastily introduce myself and Ziral as the remainder of the portal guard drops from the rooftops and gathers around to listen to me talk, keeping their distance. The lead _empousa_ listens expressionlessly as I explain the attack on the Rebel camp and the situation we now find ourselves in. She continues to stare at me long after I've finished, and Ziral fidgets uncomfortably under her hard gaze.

"So what about the demigods' camp?" she barks several seconds later. "Have they simply left it unguarded?"

I shrug. "We don't know yet," I tell her. "The battle was only a little over a day ago, and we're still trying to figure out exactly how many Rebels are left. After we contact Portals 3 and 4 and see how many people we have to work with, then we'll get a bearing on everything else."

"And when, exactly, do you plan on contacting Portals 3 and 4?"

"I sent someone out to find Portal 3 to try to contact the Rebels there this morning, and we're going to get a hold of Portal 4 the moment we have some people to spare."

The _empousa _cocks an eyebrow. "You don't have enough people to distribute to only _three_ places?"

"Well, we had to leave someone to hold down the fort, you know. We have a couple of Rebels who. . . can't fight for themselves at the moment," I say hurriedly, reluctant to admit that, at the moment, our party consists of myself, Io, Silvamord, and a bunch of baby telekhines.

"I see," the _empousa_ says, sounding skeptical. There are several more seconds of uneasy silence as the _empousa_ and her portal guard study us. Quite suddenly, the _empousa _says, "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

I frown and stick my nose up. "You could say it like that I guess," I grumble. "I prefer to think of it as 'on an adventure'."

The _empousa_ gives an unexpected hiss of laughter. "Alright girl, you got some spunk, I'll give you that," she says in her silky voice, twirling a lock of curly auburn hair around her finger and leaning on her spear. "What do you want us to do?"

I blink, caught slightly off guard. I hadn't expected the portal guard to simply believe me; when I had come here, I had been prepared to argue a bit more than this. "Well," I say, regaining my composure, "for now we just need to figure out where we stand in terms of numbers. The best thing to do right now is go find everyone else, and hunker down until we know exactly what we can do."

The _empousa _nods agreeably. "Sounds about right to me," she says. Then she thrusts out her hand. "I'm Phamilia Glass," she says as we shake. "This is my crew; Leif and Strife the hellhound brothers, Trissicar the _dracaenae_, and Ginger, my little sister."

I exchange a nod with the rest of the portal guard.

"So where's the rest of your group camped out?" asks Ginger Glass. She looks a lot like Phamilia, with the same eyes and nose, the same body shape. However, she lacks Phamilia's impressive auburn curls and instead has short, spiked black hair that gives her a slight punk-rocker look. She carries a sword at her waist, and a long, thin black blade hangs around her neck on a piece of braided hemp. I notice other odd glimmers of light here and there on her body as the many small knives and who knows what else she has concealed amid her clothing catch the dull sunlight.

"We're set up on the rooftops," I tell them, "about ten blocks from the Rebel camp."

Phamilia gives a brisk nod. "We'll follow you," she says. "When we get there, I want to know exactly how this happened. How in Hades were the demigods able to get us under siege?"

I bite me lip as I lead the way from the dark alleyway between the houses. "I'm not really sure," I admit. "Technically, it was impossible. There should be way too many Rebels for the demigods to hole up like that. But they do have all the power, I guess, with Artemis and the kids of the Big Three."

Phamilia and her crew nod again silently as we creep around the corner as quickly as possible, eager to escape this suburb paradise. If anyone drives by now, they'll see a couple of homeless people with swords and their dogs walking down the middle of a street filled with pleasant little white houses and childrens' toys, which will certainly earn a frantic call to the police.

All talk is put on hold as Ziral and I lead the way through the city, keeping to the shadows as much as possible as we strive to stay inconspicuous. It takes a bit longer than I would have liked, but we eventually make it back into familiar territory. Io and the Portal 3 guard are already gathered with Silvamord and the pups by the time we arrive, and they all jump about a foot into the air as I leap suddenly onto the roof beside them, hauling Ziral up after me.

"Holy Hera's—Christine!" Silvamord exclaims. "Did you find the portal guard? Would they come?"

Phamilia hauls herself up onto the roof then, saving me from having to answer, and Silvamord and the telekhine pups assist the rest of the Portal 6 guard over the edge of the roof.

Io grabs my shoulder. She looks tired and hungry, but relatively pleased with herself. "Christine," she says, "this is Flint, son of Hephaestus . He's been in charge of Portal 3 since it was first discovered."

I raise my eyebrows. "How does that work?" I ask the traitor demigod.

Flint's a tall and slender man with dark, colorless eyes and graying brown hair. He's no longer young, but he's by far the tallest person in our group. He radiates a subtle power, and carries many dark scars on his calloused hands from years of working with hot metal.

He gives me a sinister half-smile, which looks oddly out of place on an elderly man. "Zane seemed to think me the most fitting person to watch over Portal 3," he tells me in his deep voice.

"The Portal 3 guards have to be pretty reckless," Io explains. "Percy Jackson himself often showed up to protect the new demigods that were trying to get through the portal, so Zane often appointed some of the strongest soldiers he could spare to Portal 3. As you know, the more powerful the Rebels are, the more shifty and hard-headed they tend to be. So Zane needed someone who had enough power and authority to keep everything under control, and could still fight with the best of them. Flint was the only one who fit all those categories and would agree to stay full-time at Portal 3 without being paid."

"That's pretty charitable of you," I observe. "Not everybody would sit in an abandoned theater for two months without a decent paycheck."

Flint chuckles darkly. "Oh, it's not so bad. I get along quite well with the soldiers Zane sends me, actually."

I wonder if he's being sarcastic. The four Rebels that loom behind him, following the conversation with interest, look like nothing but trouble. Most of them appear to be horribly evolved mutants: a woman with maroon colored scales instead of skin and slitted green eyes that blink sideways, a hellhound that towers at about fifteen feet at the shoulder and has ivory spikes that run along his spine and jut up out of his skin, and a teenage boy with a round, unintelligent face who's built like an ape, his arms longer than his legs, his back hunched. The only one besides Flint who doesn't look like he's been munching on nuclear waste is a young African American man with light brown skin and black hair, dressed quite normally in jeans and a T-shirt. He seems just like your average demigod to me, but I get the feeling that he wouldn't have been appointed to guard Portal 3 unless he could do something fabulously nasty.

Flint's beasts stare back at me as if they too are examining me, gauging my power. It doesn't take me more than a glance to tell that I'm never going to get them to listen to me. The only person here they'll take orders from is Flint.

"Tell you what," I say to Flint, turning away from the mutants. "I'll make you a deal. That lot of yours won't give a rat's ass about what I want them to do, and we both know it. If you get them to follow my orders, I won't make this hard for you."

The old man's eyes glitter and he cocks an eyebrow. "So you could make this _hard_ for me, could you?" he asks, his voice suggesting that he finds this somewhat difficult to believe.

I smirk, not flinching away from his sharp gaze. "Yes, I could. Hopefully you won't have to find this out first hand."

Flint studies me for several seconds, his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly to one side as he considers me. Then he sticks out his hand, similar to the way Phamilia had not long before. "Deal," he says. "I'll keep my crew under control, and you won't give me a hard time."

"Deal," I agree, and we shake on it. I wonder if that will come back to bite me in the long run.

"So, Christine." Phamilia comes up behind me, and I turn to the _empousa_, who has by now hauled all of her crew over the edge of the roof and had been watching my exchange with Flint. "You owe me an explanation. How exactly did all of this happen?"

"First of all," I say, "we need to send someone to make contact with Portal 4. Io just came back from Broadway and Silvamord isn't in good condition yet, so we need someone else." I raise my eyebrows significantly at Phamilia, and she gives an impatient sigh.

In the end we decide to send two of Phamilia's crew, Ginger Glass and Strife, out to the Bronx to find the Portal 4 guard. Several of Flint's goons might have been able to get there faster, but I didn't trust them yet by a long shot and doubted that they could convince the Portal 4 guard to come to our camp without proof of an emergency. Not that it would've really mattered; all they would have had to do was threaten the guard, and that would be more than enough to get cooperation.

After Ginger and Strife have left, Io, Silvamord, and I tell out new allies what we know about the siege. Unfortunately, that isn't much. However, both Phamilia and Flint are seasoned warriors who have fought the gods for probably more years than I've been alive. They sit beside us with their crews and the baby telekhines in the middle of the roof, which Silvamord and her pups have by now turned into a proper camp. See, while Silvamord may have been too wounded for any action, she was certainly not too weak to practice her favorite hobby and profession: stealing. While Io, Predak, and I had been out finding the portals, Silvamord had taken the pups out on a quick run, snitching us a couple days' worth of food from a gas station, about five hundred dollars from some old lady's purse, and some general supplies—including a weather-resistant tent and more than a few blankets—from the back of a suburban with Michigan license plates that had obviously been headed out on a family camping trip.

Phamilia and Flint listen to us in silence as we retell our stories. Flint's mutants are somewhat distracting; they prowl around restlessly as we talk, always keeping just out of reach, often pacing back and forth on the very edge of the roof like tight walkers until Flint would call them back so that they didn't get spotted. Once we've finished telling them all that we know, Phamilia frowns and Flint stands up and begins to pace back and forth like his mutants, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

"Raw power," Phamilia says. "You were right Christine. That's how they managed to bottle the Rebels up like that. Power and the element of surprise."

Flint nods, glowering at the roof beneath his feet as if it has done him great personal wrong. "It wasn't even that great of a plan, really," he mutters. "There were a million things that could have gone wrong. They could have been discovered, the Greek fire bombs could have been set off at the wrong time, our numbers could have crushed them before their Big Three brats got to the scene, we could have had more Rebels out of the camp, we could have caught their spy. . ."

"Yeah, well, they lucked out," Io snaps. She has her head between her knees and is massaging her temples, looking exhausted. "Our problem now is what we're going to do about it. Any ideas?"

Silvamord taps her flippers on the ground thoughtfully. "Well, we can't get into the camp—not yet, anyway. To do that, we either need more soldiers to break through their ranks or find the spot where the demigods' guard is the weakest. Is there any way we can get a message into the camp? You know, let Zane know that we're looking for a way in? That would be a start, anyway. He might have some information that we could use to out advantage."

"That might work," I say thoughtfully, "but we've hit the same barrier again: we can't find a way in. Hell, we can't even get close to the Rebel camp without them knowing about it. They have guards everywhere. Hunters and archers on the rooftops, satyrs on the streets, demigods on the edges of the camp, and their goddess. They'd find out if we tried to send a message."

Flint stops pacing. "What about _their_ camp? Camp Half-Blood? There can't be anyone left, can there? The centaur Chiron maybe, and that man with all the eyes, Argus or something like that. Is there anyone else in there other than the nature spirits?"

Io shrugs. "That's another thing we don't know yet," she says. "There doesn't seem like there should be anyone there, yeah, but we don't know for sure. Besides, we probably couldn't even take on the nature spirits, in out present state anyway."

"Well that's one thing we might have in our favor," Flint says, starting to pace again. "The demigods don't know we're here, right? So if—"

"That's not true," Silvamord interrupts. "They know about our portal guards, or so you'd figure. Plus they're going to know that Christine isn't in the camp. They figured out her identity the last time she was captured, when we murdered Annabeth Chase. They'll know that they couldn't have possibly caught everyone."

"Yes," Flint plows on, "but they're not going to know if we're strong enough to oppose them or not."

"_We_ don't know that either," Phamilia says. "Granted we do have some good power—we've got Christine and Io, and the Portal 3 guard—but there's so few of us. I really think that we need to see how many Rebels we get from Portal 4 before we go around planning any reckless, twenty to one surprise attacks."

That was probably the wisest thing I'd head all day, and we all knew it. As much as I hated to admit it, we still didn't know enough to have any real plan. The demigods had the upper hand, and when you counted up all of us, including the telekhine pups, we only had eighteen Rebels: ten from the portal guards, five pups, Io, Silvamord, and me. In other words, we were hopelessly outnumbered, outclassed, and outmaneuvered.

It was still only about four in the afternoon and Ginger and Strife had been gone less than an hour, so we had the rest of the day to kill. Flint and his crew volunteered to take the day guard shift, and Phamilia and Silvamord immediately crashed in the tent that the telekhines had stolen. Predak and his friends had found something to pass the time also, using the blankets to create makeshift tents of their own which the leaped upon and destroyed as quickly as they set up. The remaining three members of Phamilia's crew either joined Flint on his guard or played with the pups.

I'm perched on the edge of the roof, staring out across the top of the city when Io limps up and plunks down beside me, putting her head in her hands and letting her feet dangle off the edge. I watch her worriedly. She looks terrible. Her clothes are tattered and torn, which is no surprise, but I can tell that she's lost weight. I can see her eyes between her fingers, surrounded in black and blue rings of exhaustion. The scars on her face appear to have darkened, and they stand out more than ever on her skin. Her lips are cracked and coated with dried blood, and her fingers shake slightly.

"You should get some rest," I tell her. "You look awful."

She nods. "I know. But Christine, I've been thinking. . ."

"That's dangerous stuff," I warn her. "I wouldn't do it too much if I were you."

"Tell me about it," she says. Her face stays the same, but I can hear a slight smile in her voice. "But really, Christine, I—I think. . . I think I know why this is happening."

I stare at her. "What?"

She starts to massage her temples again. "Well, not all of it, but you know how the demigods are so mad at us? I think I know why. One of the reasons, anyway."

"The demigods are always out to get us," I point out. "Why would they be after us even more than usual?"

"Well," Io begins, "I started to think about it quite a while ago actually, after the first sneak attack on Camp Half-Blood, when Zane and Hawkeye captured Chase. The demigods' oracle girl was there, remember? Rachel Elizabeth Dare. They said that Chiron had wanted her there to discuss the next great prophecy."

I nod. "I remember. I never saw her again though, not even when I was a captive. I didn't think much of it."

"Neither did I," Io admits. "But then, when we were were put on portal guard for Portal 1, and we got that demigod. The girl, the son of Hades. Nico Di Angelo had been watching her, and when we cornered her, he came and attacked. Now, we never saw her again either, did we?"

I shake my head. I can see something forming, another plan that had been unraveling just beneath out notice, but I still can't tell exactly where this conversation is going.

Io keeps going. "And then there was the demigod that you guys caught, at Portal 2. Zane said that he was a younger version of Jackson; a son of Poseidon. He was another demigod that appeared to be a forbidden child of one of the Big Three."

I nod again.

"Well, after I heard about your Jackson Jr. I started to wonder what was going on. I know that Jackson made a deal with the gods, that they would have to claim their kids, but it just seemed. . . I don't know, weird, I guess. And then we murdered Chase, and the gods got involved. The _gods_ Christine. The gods never get involved in stuff like this, not unless they've been openly threatened by someone really powerful, like a Titan."

"So?" I ask. "The gods liked Chase. Artemis wanted her to join the Hunt, and Athena chose her to redesign Olympus. Daedalus left her his laptop, with all his unfinished projects in it. They're bound to get riled up by something like that, aren't they? And Artemis joining the fight doesn't surprise me. Out of all the gods, she's the most likely to get involved."

"I thought about that too," Io says. "But then I talked to Zane, and told him what I had been thinking about, and he agreed."

I started to interrupt, but she keeps going before I can do so. "Now, do you remember your first ever mission that Zane sent you on, when you joined the Rebels? He sent you to hunt down two new demigods that were coming into camp with Underwood the satyr. Sons of Demeter. And then not long after that, Dare showed up, and then really powerful kids of the Big Three. Well I think—and Zane agrees with me—that we stopped the demigods' prophecy from coming true."

We're both silent for a second, as she lets that sink in. "But. . ." I scowl. "How? How could we have thrown a wrench in their prophecy?"

Io stares down at the traffic moving below us. "Well, think about it. We don't know the prophecy exactly, but it calls for seven new demigods, right? So we'll start counting them off. First there was the Demeter boys that you killed. They're a good guess; Underwood has a thing for bringing in really powerful godlings. And then there was the daughter of Hades. Di Angelo went nuts trying to save her, and then she disappeared. I think that Di Angelo brought her to the Underworld, to protect her. Then there was your Jackson Jr. that you killed. So that's four of the seven accounted for, and three of them dead. Then there was Chase. She couldn't have been one of the seven, but, what if Percy Jackson had had heirs?"

I blink. "That's crazy."

"It'd work, wouldn't it?" Io insists. "Annabeth Chase was the only person we know of that Jackson really loved. So say Jackson would've had kids. There's another one of the seven, possibly two, or even three. No matter how many, we've still taken out at least one more of the seven new demigods."

"But. . ." I stare at the ground, trying to process the possibility. "They'd be to different in age, wouldn't they? The Demeter kids were thirteen. The Hades girl was eight, and Jackson Jr. was probably eleven or twelve. Say Jackson had kids when he was, I dunno, say twenty-three. Already, the Demeter kids are nineteen. They'd be _out_ of camp by the time Jackson's kids were even born. And by the time those kids are thirteen, the Demeter boys are in their thirties. The age range is too different."

Io shakes her head. "Think generations, Christine. The prophecy can't come true with Jackson's generation, right? We snuffed out the Demeter twins and Jackson Jr. And it can't come true for the next generation, because we killed Chase and destroyed the chance of Jackson having really powerful kids."

I think for a second. "No way," I say finally. "That's too general. There's thousands and thousands of demigods out there. We can't know for sure that we've killed _any _of the kids from the new prophecy. The chances are way too slim."

Io gives me a weary smile. "Story of our lives, isn't it Christine? The chances were way too slim for the demigods to win the war, but they did. The chances were way too slim for us to kidnap Chase, but we did. The number of close calls we've all had, the number of times we've almost gotten ourselves killed—way to slim a chance for us to walk away from it all alive. And here we are."

I don't answer. I don't like it, but I can see her point. When you're a part of Greek mythology, anything is possible. Io's idea that we've destroyed the chances of the next big prophecy coming true for at least another forty years is far-fetched, ridiculous, and not likely. But it's possible. And it would explain why the demigods are so desperate to get rid of us, and why the gods are suddenly meddling with the battles so much.

Io gets quietly up without another word and limps back off to the tent, leaving me alone at the edge of the roof.

It was nightfall.

The sun was just disappearing behind the distant skyscrapers when one of Flint's goons, the woman with the scales, alerts us to a disturbance approaching from the direction of the Bronx.

Phamilia, emerging from the tent, frowns. "What in Hades is that. . .?"

We gather silently on the side of the roof from which the action is approaching. I can't hear it very well yet, but it's definitely Rebel action, and it's big. The sound of car horns is especially prominent, leading me to suspect that whatever is happening, no one is making an effort to hide it from the mortals.

Silvamord quickly rounds up Predak and the other pups and ushers them back from the edge of the roof. "Should we clear out?" she asks me.

I exchange a glance with Flint and Io. "Probably," I growl. "Just to be safe. We can't risk losing anybody."

Silvamord nods wordlessly and begins to direct the pups to the opposite end of the roof. From there they leap to the next building, and then the next, and so on until they are lost from sight.

The action is closer now. I can hear it clearly—shouting and the occasional grunt or scream of pain, the honking of car horns, the soft hiss of arrows and the odd clash of metal on metal, just around the corner. I morph into wolf form and inhale deeply, scenting the air.

"It's Ginger and Strife," I announce. "I think they've got the Portal 4 guard with them, but I can't tell for sure. . . If they do, they've lost a couple members along the way."

"And who's chasing them?" Flint asks. He has his sword drawn, as does Io on his other side. Phamilia is rubbing her hands together, and where the friction is strongest, hot white sparks scatter from her skin.

I taste the air again, but before I can answer, the battle bursts around the corner and into our view. Ginger Glass and Strife are in the lead, running down the middle of the highway for all they're worth. There are two telekhines and a traitor demigod, a teenage boy, running just behind them. And off to the sides, on the streets, bounding across the rooftops, vaulting over mailboxes and dodging panicked pedestrians are the demigods and their allies. I immediately notice five or so Hunters, Tyson the cyclops, Mrs. O' Leary the hellhound, and some satyrs and tree nymphs.

What worries me the most though is the very pissed, very vengeful looking Percy Jackson, pounding down the middle of the street towards us, right on the Rebels' heels.


	19. Chapter 19

**I am evil. :) There will be one more chap. after this, so hang in there with me. **

Ch. 19

Now, when I tell you that Percy Jackson was incredibly mad, that is a understatement of momentous proportions. He was beyond mad, or even furious. I probably would have figured this out even if he _hadn't_ pinned me to a wall and just about chopped my head off.

Luckily for me, Io was on guard. She lunges forward and intercepts the blow, holding Jackson off long enough for me to rip out the stiletto knife that had me secured to the wall by the shoulder.

"Retreat!" Flint howls, stabbing a tree nymph in the chest and karate-chopping a Hunter as he whirls around. "Retreat! Go to the Rebel camp!"

"What?" I exclaim, slipping past Io and Jackson's duel and kicking the hooves out from beneath a satyr, sending him toppling awkwardly. "That's suicide! We'll be sandwiched between this lot and the ones guarding the camp."

Flint takes off down the middle of the street, pausing near me to mutter, rather unhelpfully, "No worse than anything else we've pulled off lately."

Seeing as he had a point, our little group of Rebels follow in his wake for all we're worth, ignoring the chaos that our appearance is causing on the mortal world. Io breaks away from Jackson and pounds off down the street, her sword still in one hand and her teeth gritted as she outstrips the demigods and the slower Rebels. I morph back into wolf form (I had temporarily abandoned it when the demigods had forced us from the rooftops), using my natural running ability to easily keep up with Io and the faster Rebels. Phamilia, who had been stabbed in the leg, and the new Rebels from Portal 4, the boy and the two telekhines, soon begin to fall behind.

The godlings pursue us, Jackson and his pet hellhound in the lead, Tyson the cyclops and the Hunters not far behind. Vines grow from cracks in the sidewalks and wrap around our ankles as the nymphs and satyrs attempt to slow us down. We are able to break free of the leafage most of the time, but the vines prove too strong for the hellhound from Phamilia's crew, Strife, who had run all the way from the Bronx. He stumbles on the plants and hits the pavement with a soft grunt. Phamilia slices through the vines on several of his paws as she runs by, but he is weak and unable to drag himself into standing position, and the Hunters of Artemis soon pick him off with their arrows.

Flint and his crew of vicious mutants are still in good shape, but everyone else isn't holding up well. Io's short burst of adrenalin that had put distance between herself and the demigods has worn off, and she is lagging behind with the slowest of our Rebels. Phamilia isn't doing much better, and her crew and the survivors from Portal 4 are falling further and further behind myself and Flint's crew.

"Flint!" I yell, running up beside him, "What are you doing? They're never gonna make it all the way to the camp." I jerk my head back over my shoulder, motioning to our companions. "What do you plan on doing when we get to the Rebel camp and there's only six of us? Some rescue _that_ is," I pant.

Flint glances back just in time to see one of the telekhines from Portal 4 get caught and crushed by Tyson the cyclops. "We don't need much," he says, refocusing on running. "All we need to do is weaken a spot in the demigods' defenses around the camp; Zane and the rest will be able to attack from the inside also. Between the attack from both sides, their defense will weaken in that spot enough for the Rebels to escape, or at least some of them."

"And once that happens?"

Flint's eyes narrow. "If it was me, I'd head for Camp Half-Blood. It has no border, and there's no reinforcements there for the demigods. Zane should be smart enough to direct the army that way—this war needs to end."

I nod, but am distracted by a shrill scream from behind me. Ginger Glass the _empousa _hits the pavement dead, an arrow sprouting from her back.

Jackson is closing in on Io. She's making one last unsuccessful attempt to fend him off, whirling around every few seconds to lash out at him with her sword, but he treats the attacks like bee stings, advancing steadily on her as they dodge their way up the street past cars and screaming mortal pedestrians.

I skid to a halt. "I'm going back!" I call to Flint, who's only reply is to look at me over his shoulder like I'm insane, and keep running.

Turning on my heel and running back to the rest of the remaining Rebels, I make my way towards Io. Phamilia and the boy from Portal 4 flash by me, going the opposite direction. Jackson focuses on me when I approach, recognition flaring in his eyes, which I get a brief glance of before I bound past Io and ram into him head-on.

Due to Jackson's Achilles Curse, this does not get me quite the effect I had been hoping for; In fact, I probably hurt myself more than him. He staggers back a few steps, but other than that shows no sign of having been wounded. I on the other hand, get the breath knocked out of me as if I had rammed myself against a brick wall.

Jackson readies his sword as I pick myself up off the pavement, my teeth drawn back to reveal my yellowed fangs. Hunters of Artemis and nature spirits stream by us in pursuit of the rest of the Rebels, but Jackson stays stationary, standing in the middle of the street and watching me with cold loathing as I brace myself and square up against him. Despite the fact that he is human and I'm in wolf form, I stand almost as tall as him. But even though I have the weight, the size, and the speed on my side, he has invincibility. Which, when it all boils down, really puts everything else to shame.

Jackson lunges at me, his sword flashing as screaming mortals scramble away from us. I don't know exactly what they see under the Mist, but it probably involves a teenage boy with some kind of baseball bat or lacrosse stick getting ready to beat the living daylights out of a large dog, a scene which, no matter how you watch it, can't end well at all.

I spring back from his sword, landing lightly on my paws for an instant before launching myself swiftly forward to take a snap at his neck, and then whirling off to one side and back out of sword range. I try to distract him, morphing constantly to wolf to girl and back again, occasionally pausing the transformation somewhere in between the two forms so that he gets a glimpse of the grotesque creature that I briefly become during the morph. This works to a limited degree, since Jackson constantly has to change his fighting style to fit the species of adversary, and is often several moves behind me.

At one point I am in human form, dancing backwards as he pushes me up the street in the direction of my retreating companions, when he makes an unexpected leap forward and gets me within sword range. He takes a swing at my head and I have almost no time to react, so I let my feet drop out from under me, falling straight down. I manage to save myself by only inches: Jackson misses my head completely, but he takes off over a foot of hair, leaving me with a badly-cut bob that hangs down to about my jawline. I spring to my feet as strands of my own red hair float down around me and deliver a swift kick to Jackson in unmentionable areas.

Okay, so actually it was more of a classic kick in the balls, but hey, it worked, even if it wasn't as pretty as professional karate or anything like that. I've had years of practice on Hawkeye and Damian, and they learned the hard way what an accomplished kicker I am when I'm provoked. Anyway, it turned out that Mr. Invincible wasn't quite as indestructible as they say, because I bought myself several seconds to turn tail and run like Hades.

By now, we aren't all that far from the Rebel camp. We're about six blocks from the rooftop on which Silvamord, Io, the pups, and I had originally set up camp on after we had been evicted from the Rebel camp. Io, Phamilia and her crew, and the two survivors from Portal 4 are about four blocks ahead of me, with the demigods, nymphs, and Hunters hard on their heels. Flint and his mutants are about a half of a block ahead of them and within sight of the Rebel camp. Silvamord and the pups are still somewhere behind us, hiding out on a rooftop.

I can see the Rebel camp clearly now, and the demigod forces that surround it (They had seen us coming of course. By now we had pretty much trashed the highway, and were attracting every cop car on this side of the city, so what would you expect?). Jackson is several yards behind me, his sword in hand, and I can feel his electric green eyes burning into the back of my head.

Ahead of me, the sound of battle escalates as Flint and his mutants clash with the demigods. I can see the warfare well from the distance, and it's not pretty: Flint's crew are demons, slashing and spinning, ripping off heads and spattering the pavement with blood, sending nymphs exploding into wisps of green mist and showers of withering flower petals. Part of the demigod guard breaks away from them to meet Io and the others as they throw themselves into the fray, weak but enthusiastic.

Jackson and I are the only two who have yet to join the battle, but I can tell that the son of the sea god doesn't want me to live long enough to assist my fellow Rebels. When we're half a block from the edges of the chaos, he lunges wildly forward kicks me down onto the cement. I yelp in surprise and morph into canine as I fall, rolling sideways to avoid the point of Jackson's sword, which crashes down into the ground where my head had been seconds before.

Before I can leap to my feet, he's on me again, kicking me in the ribs before I can get up and stabbing with his sword. I manage to save myself once more, but he immediately draws back his arm for another strike, and this time I can't get out of the way fast enough. I only just manage to avoid a fatal strike, but his blade impales me through the side. It misses any of my major organs or arteries—probably by pure luck—but blood immediately begins to gush from the wound, pooling beneath me on the pavement.

I gasp loudly, sucking in a painful breath. Before Jackson can strike again, I scramble ungracefully to my paws and scuttle towards the battle at the Rebel camp as fast as I am capable of going, hunched over as I try to staunch the flow of blood flooding from my side. Jackson had obviously not been expecting me to get up again, and he hesitates several seconds. This gives me just enough time to reach the edge of the fray, where I try to camouflage myself amid the fighting throng. Jackson keeps his eyes glued to me until one of Flint's mutants, the ape-shaped boy with the unintelligent face, drops out of nowhere. He rams into Jackson from behind like a juggernaut, and both hit the ground and disappear into the warfare.

The Rebels that had been holed up inside camp have now joined the battle. Our distraction has given them a chance to leave the Rebel camp without being shot at by Hunters of Artemis or jumped by demigods, and they are making the most of it. As our numbers swell, the battle spills out of the parking lot that the camp is set in and out across the street. The demigod archers that had been watching from the rooftops have abandoned their posts and leaped into the battle, and I can hear mortal police sirens approaching from every direction.

A girl demigod steps in front of me with her spear raised above her head to strike me down. However, before she can do so the spear is plucked gracefully from her grasp by someone behind her. She makes to whirl around and confront the sneak attack, but the tip of her own weapon grows from her chest. She stares dumbly at it before toppling sideways, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Amazing how they never see that coming," Damian says, giving the body a scornful glance as he shoulders his bow and sheath of arrows. "Christine, you look awful."

I allow a wide grin to split my face. "I get that a lot," I tell him as I lunge sideways and sink my fangs into the ankle of a passing satyr. "Is that all the thanks I get for busting you lot out of siege?"

"It's not over yet," Damian growls, but I notice a smile on his lips before he turns away from me, his bow loaded and stretched taunt.

I see Hawkeye in the distance, back-to-back with Zane as they fight off a trio of Hunters. Fiona is wrapped around a satyr, her teeth sunk deep into his neck. Predak and a small group of telekhines, the survivors of his gang, are backing Tyson the cyclops up against a wall. A shadow falls over me briefly, and I glance up to see Kodiak flash by overhead, unceremoniously shoving the remainder of the demigod archers off the roofs to hit the pavement below with juicy splats.

To my right, Zane's deep bass voice rings out above the noise of the fighting: "Get out of the camp!" he urges the remaining Rebels. "Head west! Get to Camp Half-Blood!"

I remember what Flint had said to me earlier: "If it was me, I'd head for Camp Half-Blood. It has no border, and there's no reinforcements there for the demigods." I know that this is exactly what Zane has in mind. It's a good plan too, or , at least, the best plan that we can think up while running down the middle of New York City, attracting police and media and news crews to us as they gather to get coverage of the action.

The Rebels immediately catch on to Zane's plan, and before too long the number of fighters has decreased drastically as Rebels take off for the Long Island Sound, and demigods race off in their wake to protect their precious camp. I find myself surprised at how fast everything is suddenly going—wasn't it just this morning I was walking down a suburb street with Predak, searching for Phamilia and her Portal 3 crew?

"Yo Savage, you coming or not?"

I glance up. Zane is staring down his nose at me, looking pretty scary, puffed up to his full height with his sword drawn and his eyes narrowed.

"I just ran ten blocks and got skewered by Jackson, simply so that I could bail you out of captivity. Isn't that enough for one hour?" I complain, but I'm already making my way to the nearest truck. I leap up onto the hood so that I can get up onto the rooftops.

"You gonna be okay?" Damian asks me. Most of the others are already blocks away, racing for Camp Half-Blood, but he has stayed behind. He eyes my side wound as he talks, obviously worried.

"I'll be fine," I snap, hiding my surprise at his compassion. "I'll meet you there."

I turn away and leap up onto the nearest roof without looking back, pushing off the hood of the truck and leaving eight deep gashes in the metal from my back claws.

Moving fast on the rooftops as I leap deftly from building to building, it takes surprisingly little effort to follow the crowd towards Camp Half-Blood. The battle has left chaos in it's wake; broken store windows and destroyed cars with smoke boiling from beneath the hoods, an abundance of vines and weeds growing from the cracks in the pavement, and the occasional carcass or two. Every once and a while I see a lone straggler running along the street, a demigod or Rebel who has fallen behind the crowd due to either a wound or a late start. Police cars tear up from adjacent streets, and news vans arrive not far behind them. Mortals who had witnessed the battle wander around looking lost or sit in their cars, too nervous or shocked to emerge. Not for the first time, I wonder what they see from beneath the Mist.

I reach the end of the block-shaped city buildings, hitting the suburb area and being forced from the now-slanted roofs and back onto the pavement. I reach the grassy stretch of land the surrounds Camp Half-Blood in record time, even though I am bent over double and gasping for breath by the time I get there.

I linger at a distance for several seconds, taking in the destruction. Night has begun to fall, and lights are appearing all around us, illuminating the fight. The battle is fierce and bloody—the fighters fueled by hatred for each other and desperation to prove their worth to their advisories. The pine tree that marks the edge of the now-nonexistent border is on fire, as are most of the cabins, judging by the amount of black smoke rising into the night sky. The silhouettes of the fighters can occasionally be glimpsed against the flames, and the smell of blood and smoke and sweat is heavy in the air, as is the tang of sea salt, which can only be from Jackson.

Deciding that I can't put it off any longer, I bound for Half-Blood Hill. I weave between an _empousa_ and a tree nymph locked in a duel to the death and a demigod throwing Greek fire into the face of a hellhound as I race for the border. Leaping past the demigods' dragon, Ladon, as he rips apart a traitor godling, I bound past the smoldering pine tree and into the camp.

It doesn't take long for me to be spotted by the sons of Hermes, Connor and Travis Stoll, and I am soon engaged in battle against a pair of identical demigods, who think and move like one. Unfortunately for them, they fight as one too, and it's easy to predict what move they are going to make next. Even though they can't beat me, they're hard to shake off, and I only manage to extract myself from them when a Greek fire bomb explodes several yards to my left and blows everything within ten feet of it to bits, sending everything else flying back.

I'm thrown back at least twenty feet by the force of the bomb, and when I do come to a stop it's only because I've nailed a tree nymph in the back and flattened her beneath me. Slightly winded, it takes me a second or two to regain my footing and pounce on a demigod that had been about to stab one of our mutants. The mutant scrambles away and the demigod and I roll off, a withering whirl of fur and steel and drops of blood.

My fight with the demigod comes to an abrupt end when I manage to kick him in the stomach with my back paw, ripping him open and sending him rolling away from me, pumping blood from his gaping wound. I leap to my feet, soaked in blood and sweat, fighting exhaustion, and look around for my next competitor.

Then, off on one edge of the burning camp, a white light begins to glow. It's pale and weak at first, but after several seconds it suddenly explodes into a bright beacon against the fiery darkness around it, and everyone's eye is drawn. From the center of this halo of light steps the small figure of a little girl with silvery-blond hair, holding a long hunting knife in each hand. The glimmering form of Thalia Grace stands beside her with a large white timber wolf.

Artemis.

A bedraggled cheer emits from the demigods as the goddess of the hunt enters the battle, her bright halo dimming to a cold white throb of white glowing from her skin as she whirls on the nearest Rebel giant with her knives, faster than thought, and sends him crashing down.

The battle had been pretty even in my opinion, but with the arrival of the goddess, we began to weaken. Nico Di Angelo had resurrected a small militia of skeletons to assist in the fighting, and Jackson was in the center of camp flaunting his invincibility by being a total jerk and causing Rebels to suddenly combust into messy puddles of off-colored salt water. Thalia Grace quickly took the rest of our giants out of play by causing the odd bolt of white lightning to spear down from the clear night sky, momentarily illuminating the war zone as she grilled a monster.

The tide was turning against us. The high-pitched tunes of the satyrs' reed pipes were heard almost nonstop, and our hellhounds and mutants were often disappearing beneath a winding mass of vines or killer shrubs, mummified in vegetation. Our _empousa_ were falling to the skeletons. Traitor demigods were felled by their cousins. Telekhines were melting into salt water when the stepped to near Percy Jackson. Rebels of all types would freeze on the spot and back away when Nico Di Angelo approached.

It's not too long before I find myself back-to-back with Hawkeye. "Where'd you come from?" he demands in his usual charming manner.

I morph into human form and press my shoulder blades against his, covering his back as he takes on a group of satyrs. Snatching a reed pipe from one satyr and using it to brain another, I give an audible snort. "You should talk," I say. "What kind of a question is that? Hey—watch that one sneaking up on your left," I warn him, kneeing one satyr in the gut while batting away a halfhearted punch from another.

This mid-crisis banter is not unusual for us—I do is with Damian too, and anyone else that I served with in our under cover group for Kronos. Granted when I argue with Hawkeye our insults can be a bit more heartfelt than when I'm making fun of Predak or Damian, due to the fact that we're never on good terms with each other.

This time however, Hawkeye has something to say that's worth listening to. We both flinch back as Nico Di Angelo lifts his hands and the ground erupts around him with an impressive _crunch_, sending telekhines and mutants and _empousa_ to fall or stagger back away from their victims and into the arms of waiting skeletons.

"That is _it_," Hawkeye snarls, kicking a satyr viciously and impaling the unlucky creature on his sword. "One of those Big Three kids has got to go. We're never going to win at this rate."

"We might not win anyway," I point out. "They do have a goddess, after all."

He gives me a don't-burst-my-bubble kind of look over his shoulder, his silver eye glittering defiantly, and I shrug and sucker-punch a godling. "What's your master plan now?" I ask, recognizing that rebellious look that steals across his face. "Not another dud, is it?" I say wryly.

"Excuse me, but I have not had a _dud_ of a plan to date, thanks for asking," he snarls. "But one of those Big Three kids has got to go. At least then we'll have a chance of winning."

I frown and grab a tree nymph's arm, twisting it violently over her shoulder and behind her back, making her squeal. "What's going on in that twisted head of yours? You have a plan—I can tell."

His eyes focus on Nico Di Angelo. "Wish me luck."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, don't die," is all I say. He snorts and steps away from me, disappearing into the violent crowd. Only after he is long gone to I add under my breath, "Good luck."

I've occupied myself fist fighting a godling when Hawkeye reappears. I see him out of the corner of my eye, stepping unexpectedly from the darkness in front of Di Angelo, drawing his sword. Di Angelo freezes on the spot with his own Stygian black sword held at the ready as he and Hawkeye briefly size each other up. As I've mentioned before, they're pretty well matched—both are from Hades, and creatures with expertise in handling the dead. Hawkeye is just older, and fighting for a different side.

Di Angelo makes the first move, lunging forward and aiming to stab Hawkeye in the side. Hawkeye bats the blow away and launches an attack of his own; black and green sparks explode from where the two blades make contact.

I am side tackled by a satyr and sent rolling, and I lose track of the battle as I struggle to throw him off. I get a glimpse of Damian, who has by now joined the fight, choking a Hunter of Artemis with his bow as Mokkan the hellhound covers his back. Zane and Jackson have created a two-man war of their own in the very center of camp, although both are rather distracted by Hawkeye and Di Angelo's fight.

When I look up again, Di Angelo is nailing Hawkeye in the side of the neck with the hilt of his sword and sending him to the ground. Before he can do much however, Hawkeye kicks Di Angelo's legs out from beneath him and leaps to his feet, trying to wrench the godling's sword away from him. Behind the two of them, a huge Greek bomb goes off, sending green fire forty feet into the air, and for a moment, only their silhouettes are visible. At that same moment I am attacked by one of the Hunters' timber wolves, and once more lose track of the battle.

The wolf distracts me for far longer than the satyr had, and I look up from the thing's carcass just in time to see the end of their battle. Their swords are gone, cast aside in favor of magic and physical strength. Hawkeye had the younger godling pinned securely to the ground, and then. . . what? I'm not entirely sure what happens next. Di Angelo, in a final desperate attempt to save himself, releases a huge burst of dark energy that vaguely resembles black light. The bang could probably be heard down in New Jersey somewhere—the onlookers are completely deafened, and Hawkeye. . . is simply gone.

He had somehow blocked Di Angelo's final attack, rebounding the boy's magic back onto him, and blasting him back fifty feet across camp, dead as a stone. And Hawkeye is simply gone. Weather he had been killed by the effort required to rebound the magic or had performed one of his perfectly-timed vanishing acts, I can't tell.

The silence that follows is eerie. Only the fighters at the edges of the battle continue to brawl, not having seen the exchange between Hawkeye and Di Angelo, and the death of one, if not both, of the fighters. I'm in shock. Hawkeye cannot simply be _dead_; I mean, he's Hawkeye. He's indestructible. He's my annoying, back-stabbing, smart ass partner in crime. If anyone was supposed to kill him, it was _me_.

Over in the center of the camp, Jackson lets out a bellow of rage. He's lost Chase, and clearly the loss of his little cousin is too much. He whirls on Zane, who raises his sword to defend himself. For several long seconds, there is a desperate, frantic battle between the two until Jackson's indestructibility pays off. His sword slips under Zane's guard and sinks deep into the his torso, between the ribs. There are several seconds where a glimmer from the point of the sword can be seen on the other side of his body, protruding from his back, and then he slides backwards off the slick blade and crashes to the ground, his own sword slipping from his dark hand.

Two leaders down in fifteen seconds flat. In my pain, my sudden helplessness, I turn around to look at the one person left: Damian. He looks at me, and I see my own pain reflected in his one remaining eye. I see my own question: What now?

Then he nods once, and his reassurance helps me find my voice. "RETREAT!" I howl into the stunned silence, my voice carrying loud and long on the silent nighttime air, hot with the heat of the battle. "Retreat! Now!"

Damian's voice adds to mine, and slowly the Rebels begin to react. Some of the demigods make to engage us in battle again, but Artemis holds up her hands. "Let them go," she says, her voice carrying easily through the entire camp. "They're no threat to us anymore."

I burn at those words. Anger wells up inside of me, but I fight it down. Our army is weak—probably nonexistent now. There is nothing we can do at the moment, without leaders to guide the masses. That's one of the things that I have never liked about monsters—they need to be told what to do, they can't think for themselves.

The remaining Rebels (there are very few; probably only a fourth of what we had half an hour earlier) make their way to the top of Half-Blood Hill, left alone by the demigods. Damian and I stand beneath the charred remains of the pine tree until the last of the Rebels has escaped.

Then, with the victorious cheering of the demigods ringing in our ears, we reluctantly turn our backs on Camp Half-Blood, and run like hell.


	20. Chapter 20

**Last chap.! Squee!**

Ch. 20

At dawn the next day, I found that I had returned to what remained of the Rebel camp. There wasn't much; the tents were abandoned, belongings strewn around on the concrete, remains of abandoned campfires, the occasional corpse stretched out in a shadowy corner. I don't really know why I had come back. After the survivors of the battle had escaped Camp Half-Blood, they had scattered. There wasn't enough of us left to win a fight against a class of second-graders, let alone continue to effectively harass the demigods.

Damian had vanished into the shadows several hours earlier, and I didn't really expect to see him again any time soon. There were a few monsters that had thought along the same lines as me and had returned to the abandoned camp, and they snuffled through the remains like the homeless people they had suddenly become. I almost felt sorry for them, until I remembered that I was in the same boat—homeless and worthless, living a pointless existence on the city streets.

Near the center of the camp, I noticed a small group of familiar figures gathered around a car battery. "Predak?"

Predak the telekhine looks up in surprise, a grin forming on his features as he recognizes me. "Christine! What are you doing back here?"

"Christeeeeene!" Ziral squeals, waddling full-speed over to me and head-ramming my knees in affection.

I wince and pat the pup on the head, exchanging a friendly nod with Silvamord. "I don't know. . . just scavenging, I suppose."

Predak gives me a knowing look. "Back to the streets, eh?" he asks with a wry half smile, flashing his sharp little telekhine teeth. "I guess that's what happens when you're a monster."

"I guess," I agree, shrugging. "You got any plans?"

Predak shakes his head. "Nah. I'm gonna travel with Silvamord and the pups for a while though I think. I lost my whole crew last night, so. . ." he trails off, looking defeated. "Gotta start over now, you know?"

"Yeah," I say quietly. "That makes two of us. Have you seen anyone else?"

"I saw Io," Silvamord pipes up. "She's heading north for a while, gonna get out of New York, she told me. She looked awful though," the telekhine says, sounding slightly worried. "She was so skinny, and I think she lost a lot of blood in the battle. . . it wouldn't surprise me if she didn't live long enough to make it past the Bronx."

"And Katrina's dead," Predak adds. "Your _empousa_ friend Phamilia told me that. Mokkan lived, and Fiona did too. . . I don't know about anyone else though. I think Flint lived, but I'm not too sure about that. All his big mutants are dead, I know that." He looks at me. "Hear anything about Hawkeye?"

Pain sears through my chest. "No. I was hoping you had."

Predak shakes his head. "Nope. I don't think anybody knows for sure. He could have been killed, but he could have pulled a trick and vanished, too. He's done that a couple of times."

"Missing in action," Silvamord says wisely. "Well, kind of. Technically we all saw him disappear, but—you get it."

It hurts to hear those words about Hawkeye. I never thought that his disappearance would affect me so much. There isn't much in my life that I would regret losing, but I couldn't have ever imagined that Hawkeye would be among that list. It's like losing Charlie X, the mutant runner, all over again. Except worse.

"Yeah, we get it," I say. I can tell that Predak feels the same way I do. He was close to Hawkeye, too.

We stand in companionable silence for several minutes, watching the sun come up over the tops of the buildings. Finally, Ziral bounces up to me. "Where are _you_ going, Christine?" he asks.

I bite my lip. "I don't know, baby. This war ended really fast, and I haven't really had time to think about it. But I hear Kansas is nice this time of year."

Silvamord gives a halfhearted laugh. "You're serious?"

I grin. "Maybe. I don't have any reason _not _to go—other than that it might be kind of hard to blend in with the wheat fields. I don't really know. I have no reason to stay here, after all."

There is a subtle beating of wings behind me. "_Kansas_? What do you see in Kansas?"

I don't bother to turn around. "Hey, Kodiak."

The mutant boy comes up beside me, folding his black bat wings against his back. He has a half healed gash across his left shoulder, a black eye, and walks with a limp. He raises an eyebrow. "Kansas?" he asks again.

I put my hands on my hips. "Why not? Do you have a problem with Kansas?" I ask with a touch of my former cockiness.

"Not at all," he says, one corner of his mouth quirking in a slight smile. I notice that one of his front teeth are missing. "It's just a little. . . country, I guess, for a city girl like you."

"Oh thanks," I say, punching him playfully on the shoulder and making him cringe. "So, where are you going now?"

"I'm sticking around here," he says, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. "Couldn't leave New York City if you paid me. It's a little risky maybe, since Jackson is still prowling around here, but oh well. It's home."

"So how is Mr. Indestructible?" Predak asks. "Still kicking?"

"He didn't take Di Angelo's death very well," Kodiak says with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Not well at all, from what I've heard. He still hadn't recovered from losing his girlfriend, and Di Angelo was just too much. He's depressed, I think."

Silvamord makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Serves him right," she says. "And Artemis?"

"Back on Olympus, where she belongs," Kodiak says. "Thalia Grace and the Hunters stayed at Camp Half-Blood to help them rebuild, though. Grover Underwood the satyr is already scrounging around for more half bloods to bring in. Clarisse LaRue has been laid out senseless since last night. Lost a battle with our sphinx, I think," he adds, sounding a little bit proud.

"And how did you figure all this out?" I ask the mutant.

He gives Predak a sideways look. "I'm good at eavesdropping on powerful people," he says, and Silvamord and the pups laugh.

I groan. "Great, now there's two of you," I snarl. "I'm leaving while I can."

Kodiak grins and returns my sock on the shoulder. "Well then, good luck, Christine. Don't cause too much trouble in Kansas."

"Yeah," Predak agrees. "And if you're ever in a bind, give us a holler, will you? I like the kind of trouble that you get into."

I can't resist a smile. "If you insist, man. And no terrorist attack scares remember—I'll know who's behind it all if I hear of somebody getting caught trying to bomb the Statue of Liberty or something like that."

Ziral and the pups groan in disappointment and I turn away, trying not to laugh.

"Hey Christine!" Silvamord calls out to me as I walk away. "I love your hair!"

I flip her the bird over my shoulder as they crack up, and before long the remains of the Rebel camp lies several blocks behind me. The sound of their laughter disappears along with it.

I turn down into an alleyway, the dark, filthy feeling that accompanies it all to familiar to me. However, before I can go far, the sound of footsteps echoes from behind me, and I turn to see a tall, blond boy with an eye patch following me.

"Well, well," I say, turning to face Damian, "look at what the wind blew in. I thought you vanished back into the city sometime last night."

He shrugs, stopping several feet in front of me. "I did," he says. "But I figured I had better come back and see what was left of the camp. I hear you're going to Kansas."

I snort. "I'm not too sure about that, but the people in Kansas better hope that I change my mind."

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "I think the people _everywhere_ you go better worry about that."

"Heaven won't take me, and Hades is afraid I'll take over, so yeah, I figure you're right. And where do you plan on going?"

His fingers pluck restlessly at the string of his bow. "I don't really know yet, to tell you the truth. New York might be home, but it's pretty dangerous around here right now. There's still demigods crawling around, and mortal media to watch out for too. I might head north—see if I can find Io. I saw her not long after Silvamord did; she wasn't looking good."

I nod. "Sensible enough. Well, if you do find her, tell her I said hello."

"I will," he says. "If I find her alive, anyway."

There are several seconds of uncomfortable silence between us, before I ask him, "So, what's on your mind?"

He looks at me in surprise. "What?"

I roll my eyes. "Damian Vasquez, I've known you way to long for you to pull _that_ one on me. I didn't serve under Kronos with you for almost five years for nothing, you know."

"Funny how that works, isn't it?" he asks, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't understand the way you work if someone wrote it out for me on paper, and you can read my mind." And before I can remind him that's how _everybody_ feels around me, he leans down and plants his mouth over mine.

Now, I've done a lot of things in my short life. I've jumped out of an airplane, without a parachute. I've spied on important political figures. I've caused a bomb scare at a string quartet concert. Predak and I have robbed a bank with a water gun and a ball point pen. But I've never been kissed.

In fact, being kissed had never been very high on my list of things to do; it was somewhere way down there near the bottom with "practice cannibalism" and "bake a cake." So I was rather surprised when I didn't really resist.

I was pretty impressed with Damian, too. I mean, it takes a lot of guts to kiss somebody with fangs, especially if that somebody isn't exactly famous for her dental hygiene (hey, give me a break—you never saw Kronos hunched over a sink brushing his teeth, did you?), and prone to throwing sucker-punches when surprised.

After several long seconds of this, Damian draws back and studies my face. I grin flickers briefly across his features when he realizes that he has rendered me quite speechless. "See you around, Christine Savage."

I stare at the back of his head until he disappears around the corner and is lost from sight. Then I bare me teeth and kick out at a nearby trash can, toppling it over. "I _should_ have slugged him."

____________________________________________________________________________

I don't know where I'm going now. Probably not Kansas, I'll tell you that much, but other than that, I'm free. But no matter where I go, you know that I'll always be back, when the first whispers of a war against the gods reach my ears. As you may understand, I am a supporter of any excuse to get revenge on the gods of Olympus, for doing this to me.

And if nobody else starts a war anytime soon, I might just take it into my own hands and start one myself. I'm good at stuff like that.

But I'll be back.

After all, I _am_ Christine Savage.

______________________________________________________________

**Oh, come on, you didn't think I'd give Christine a happy ending, did you? :) It could have been worse, you know.**

**So anyway, I would like to thank, in no particular order:**

**roses aren't red, Ybird, inkbender, athenashadow, ThE AnCiEnT DeRuViSh, zodiac dragonHatori, SuzieQluvzU, Nightmare Before Halloween, jennedy, Lonely Traveler, xXuSaGiKiXx, caitlumms, Nana Tuff101, Adelina's Electric, Eclipse of Nyx, kkpara, Twilight Witch 1997, and socratesjunior. Oh, and Lidia 101101 for flaming me. At least once.**

**Very sorry if I spelled any of you guys' names wrong—some of them are pretty complicated. ;)**

**Now that this fiction is over, I would really appreciate it if you would tell me what you thought of it—chew me out for killing Annabeth and Nico, tell my your favorite part of the story, your favorite character, your _least_ favorite character (hopefully Christine :D), tell me what you though of the ending, anything! I want to know how well you liked it, or how much you hated it, or whatever. Reviews are appreciated, critique is stewed over, and flames are tolerated!**

**So now that this fic is over, I don't really plan on returning to writing Percy Jackson fanfiction any time soon—I want to branch out a bit. I'm going to head over to the Maximum Ride fandom for a little while and plague that area with my OC villains, and then I might wreak havoc on the Hunger Games a little bit more, and I will definitely be teasing the Twilight fans with some truly offensive and humiliating parodies that I will have a blast writing. (Sorry to all you Twilight lovers out there—Bella Swan is the best victim EVER of hilariously badly written, violent deaths).**

**So anyway, watch for me elsewhere, and I will eventually return to writing Percy Jackson fics. In the meantime, thanks a lot to all of my reviewers!**


End file.
